I 


THE  ART  OF 
EXTEMPORE    SPEAKING 

M.  BAUTAIN 


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THE  ART  OF 
EXTEMPORE  SPEAKING 


THE  ART  OF 

EXTEMPORE  SPEAKING 


BY 

M.  BAUTAIN 

VICAR-GENERAL  AND  PROFESSOR 
AT  THE  SORBONNE 


Niw  Editioh 


WITH  FOREWORD  BY 

ANDREW  D.   WHITE 


NEW  YORK 
McDEVITT-WILSON'S  INC. 

1916 


Copyright,  1915 
By  McDEVITT-WILSON'S,  Inc. 


pi) 


/ 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE 

It  was  our  privilege  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  Dr.  Andrew 
D.  White,  former  president  of  Cornell  University,  min- 
ister to  Russia  and  Germany  and  President  of  the  first 
International  Peace  Conference  at  the  Hague,  and  lis- 
ten to  an  effective  address  delivered  to  students  on 
the  subject  of  extemporaneous  speaking.  Dr.  White 
earnestly  urged  all  who  were  preparing  for  American 
life  to  study  Abbe  Bautain's  ''Art  of  Extempore  Speak- 
ing." 

Students  lost  no  time  in  jotting  down  the  name  of 
the  book. 

In  an  attempt  to  obtain  the  work  we  found  it  was  out 
of  print.  It  occurred  to  us  that  if  so  eminent  a  man  as 
Dr.  White,  who  had  made  public  speaking  a  study,  and 
who  never  lost  an  opportunity  when  in  France  of  lis- 
tening to  the  eloquent  Abbes,  whose  order  required  them 
to  speak  without  notes,  recommended  so  strongly  Abbe 
Bautain's  book,  a  republication  of  the  work  would  be 
good  news  to  thousands  of  preachers,  teachers,  laymen 
and  attorneys  throughout  the  English  speaking  world. 

Upon  making  known  our  intention  to  Dr.  White  we 
received  a  communication  from  him  which  appears  as 
the  Foreword  to  this  edition. 


330422! 


FOREWORD 

Cornell  University, 
Ithaca,  N,  Y. 

October  12,  1915. 
McDevitt-Wilson's,  Inc., 

Publishers,  etc., 
New  York  City. 
Gentlemen  : — 

I  am  glad  that  you  are  to  publish  a  new  edition  of  the 
Abbe  Bautain's  The  Art  of  Extempore  Speaking, 
for  the  reason  that  it  is  the  best  book  on  the  subject 
that  I  have  ever  read,  and  that  it  is  not  a  catch-penny 
publication,  but  a  thoughtful  work  based  on  important 
experience  by  an  eminent  scholar  who  was  one  of  the 
most  eminent  extemporaneous  preachers  of  modern  times 
in  France. 

I  have  for  years  recommended  it  to  the  students  at 
the  State  University  of  Michigan,  at  this  and  other  uni- 
versities, and  have  regretted  to  find  of  late  that  it  had 
disappeared  from  the  market. 
I  remain. 

Very  truly  yours, 


PREFACE 

The  following  work,  by  the  eloquent  M.  Bautain, 
has  no  counterpart  or  rival  in  the  English  language,  so 
prolific  of  treatises  upon  Rhetoric,  and  the  separate 
portions  of  the  arts  of  composition  and  delivery.  All 
those  parts  of  oratory,  however  necessary  to  public 
speaking,  or  conducive  to  success  in  its  performance,  yet 
leave  comparatively  aside  the  precise  business  of  off- 
hand extemporizing.  If  we  mistake  not,  the  subject  will 
be  found  to  be  handled  with  masterly  ability  by  the  au- 
thor of  this  volume,  who,  keeping  his  end  ever  in  view, 
and  exemplifying  in  the  treatment  of  his  matter  that 
clarte — so  distinctively  French,  and  which  Quintilian 
says  is  the  first  quality  of  style — subordinates  every- 
thing to  the  one  grand  purpose  of  extemporization. 

The  treatise  not  only  supplies  a  desideratum  in  the 
literature  of  the  language,  but  it  ministers  to  a  need  pe- 
culiarly existing  under  our  representative  system  of 
popular  government.  It  is  true,  and  felt  to  be  so — 
that  remark  of  an  acute  observer  of  American  institu- 
tions and  manners,  that  **In  no  country  whatever  is  a 
genius  for  writing  or  speaking  a  more  useful  or  com- 
manding endowment  than  in  this."  To  render  the 
work  more  aptly  suited  to  the  precise  requirements 
among  ourselves,  three  chapters  are  added  by  the  Amer- 
ican Editor,  which  it  is  hoped  will  serve  to  smooth  the 
way  for  the  unpracticed,  or  unassisted  student  of  de- 
livery. Cicero  says  in  his  treatise  De  Oratore,  ''There 
is  requisite  to  the  orator  the  acuteness  of  the  logician, 


X  PREFACE 

the  subtilty  of  the  philosopher,  the  skillful  harmony, 
almost,  of  the  poet,  the  memory  of  a  juriconsult,  the 
tragedian's  voice,  and  the  gesture  of  the  most  finished 
actors/'  But  he  speaks  of  the  highest,  for  he  adds  im- 
mediately that  ''nothing  is  more  rare  among  men  than 
a  perfect  orator."  The  gradations,  as  in  all  arts,  are 
infinite,  but  a  certain  degree,  is  within  the  reach  of  most 
men,  and  many  in  their  efforts  to  advance,  will  become 
indebted,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  to  this  admir- 
able little  work  of  M.  Bautain. 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

Exposition   of   the   Subject — Definition    of   an   Extem- 
poraneous Speech 1 

CHAPTER  II 
The  Qualifications  Necessaby  fob  Public  Speaking  .     .       7 

CHAPTER  III 

Mental  Aptitudes  for  Public  Speaking,  Capable  of  Being 
Acquired,  or  Formed  by  Study 28 

CHAPTER  IV 
Physical  Qualities  of  the  Orator,  Natural  and  Acquired    55 

PART  II 

CHAPTER  V 

Division  of  the  Subject 71 

CHAPTER  VI 
Preparation  of  the  Plan 74 

CHAPTER  VII 
Political  and  Forensic  Speaking 81 

CHAPTER  VIII 
Speaking  from  the  Christian  Pulpit,  and  in  Teaching  .     90 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  IX 

Determination  of  the   Subject  and  Conception  of  the 
Idea  of  the  Discourse 95 

CHAPTER  X 
Conception  of  the  Subject — Direct  Method 101 

CHAPTER  XI 
Conception  of  the  Subject — Indirect  Method  .     .     .     .106 

CHAPTER  XII 
The  Formation  and  the  Arrangement  of  Ideas  .     .     .     .  115  ^^ 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Arrangement  of  the  Plan 123 

CHAPTER  XIV 
Character  of  the  Plan 130 

CHAPTER  XV 
Final  Preparation  Before  Speaking 135 

CHAPTER  XVI 
Final  Intellectual  Preparation 137 

CHAPTER  XVII 
Final  Moral  Preparation 144 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
Bodily  Preparation 151 

CHAPTER  XIX 
The  Discourse 157 

CHAPTER  XX 
The  Beginning  or  Exordium .,«...  158 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XXI 
Enteance  into  the  Subject 163 

CHAPTER  XXII 
The  Development 168 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
The  Cbisis  of  the  Discourse 174 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
The  Close  of  the  Discourse,  ob  Peroeation 185 

CHAPTER  XXV 
After  the  Discourse  . 189 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
The  Logic  of  the  Orator 196 

CHAPTER  XXVn 
The  Voice  in  Public  Speaking 217 


THE  ART  OF 
EXTEMPORE  SPEAKING 


PAET  I 
CHAPTER  I 

EXPOSITION   OP    THE   SUBJECT — DEFINITION   OP   AN   EXTEM- 
PORANEOUS  SPEECH 

Let  us  in  the  first  place  exactly  determine  the  subject 

to  which  we  are  to  devote  our  attention,  in  order  that 

nothing  may  be  expected  beyond  that  which  it  is  our 

wish  and  our  power  to  commit  to  these  pages. 

^ — "We  have  no  intention  of  composing  a  treatise  on  elo- 

/     quence.     The  world  has  had  enough  on  this  subject  since 

/       the  time  of  Aristotle,  Cicero,  Quintilian,  Fenelon,  and 

(        many  others.     Treatises  on  rhetoric  abound,  and  it  ap- 

V     pears  scarcely  necessary  to  produce  a  new  one. 

It  is  not  proposed  to  treat  of  the  art  of  writing,  nor, 
consequently,  of  reciting  or  properly  delivering  a  dis- 
course elaborated  at  leisure,  and  learnt  by  heart. 

A  man  may  certainly  become  a  great  orator  by  writing 
speeches  and  reciting  them  well.  Witness  Bossuet,  Bour- 
daloue,  Massillon,  and  many  others.  It  is  possible  in 
this  manner  to  instruct,  to  touch  the  feelings,  and  to 
persuade  the  hearer;  which  is  the  object  of  the  art  of 
oratory. 


2  STATEMENT  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

Our  subject  is  confined  within  narrower  limits,  viz. 
to  the  art  of  speaking  well  and  suitably  in  a  given  situa- 
tion, whether  in  the  Christian  pulpit  or  in  the  professorial 
chair,  at  the  bar  or  in  deliberative  assemblies.  We  shall 
therefore  confine  our  attention  solely  to  a  discourse, 
neither  written  nor  learnt  by  heart,  but  improvised; 
necessarily  composed  by  the  orator  on  the  very  moment 
of  delivery,  without  any  preparation  or  previous  combina- 
tion of  phrases.  Let  us  then  determine,  in  the  first 
place,  what  is  an  improvised  (or  extempore)  speech,  and 
the  manner  in  which  a  speech  is  extemporized. 

Extemporization  consists  of  speaking  on  the  first  im- 
pulse; that  is  to  say,  without  a  preliminary  arrange- 
ment of  phrases.    It  is  the  instantaneous  manifestation, 
the  expression,  of  an  actual  thought,  or  the  sudden  ex- 
plosion of  a  feeling  or  mental  movement. 
/  It  is  very  evident  that  extemporization  can  act  only 
/on  the  form  of  words,  the  form  of  a  discourse;  for,  in 
\  order  to  speak,  it  is  necessary  to  have  something  to  say, 
^  and  that  something  must  already  be  existing  in  the  mind, 
I      or  still  more  deeply  in  the  intimate  feeling  of  the  orator. 
L,  Nevertheless,  the  thought  or  feeling  may  be  in  a  con- 
cealed state,  and  the  possessor  may  not  have  clearly  ap- 
preciated or  distinctly  perceived  it  at  the  moment  of 
opening  his  lips  under  the  impression  of  some  circum- 
stance or  some  unforeseen  cause  of  excitement. 

Ideas  and  conditions  of  the  mind  cannot  be  extempo- 
rized; and  the  more  perfectly  they  are  possessed  or  felt 
the  greater  is  the  probability  of  their  lively  explosion  or 
of  their  being  developed  with  force  and  clearness. 

We  will  not  speak  of  those  exceptional  cases  where  a 
passion,  involuntarily  excited  or  aroused,  bursts  forth  of 
a  sudden  in  some  sublime  words,  or  with  an  eloquent 
harangue.     ' '  Pacit  indignatio  versum, ' '  says  Juvenal. 


r. 


/ 


STATEMENT  OF  THE  SUBJECT  3 

Every  feeling  unexpectedly  aroused  in  an  excited  mind 
may,  like  a  volcano,  scatter  around  burning  lava,  or  like 
a  cloud,  charged  with  storms  and  bursting  suddenly  from 
electric  commotion,  produce  thunder  and  lightning,  a 
terrible  and  devastating  hail  or  a  salutary  and  fertilizing 
shower.  No  advice  can  be  given  for  such  a  situation,  for 
nature  alone  furnishes  the  means,  in  proportion  to  indi- 
vidual constitution  and  development.  There  lies  the 
source  of  all  poetry,  of  all  eloquence,  and  of  all  artistic 
power.  Improvisation  such  as  this  recognizes  no  rules, 
and  rejects  teaching.  The  coarsest,  the  most  ignorant 
man  may  thus  occasionally  be  eloquent,  if  he  feel  vividly 
and  express  himself  energetically,  in  words  and  gesture. 

We  will  devote  our  attention  only  to  prepared  ex- 
tempore speaking,  that  is  to  say,  to  those  addresses  which 
have  to  be  delivered  in  public  before  a  specified  auditory, 
on  a  particular  day,  on  a  given  subject,  and  with  the 
view  of  achieving  a  certain  result. 

It  is  true  that  in  such  cases  the  discourse,  if  written 
beforehand,  can  be  recited  or  read.  There  are  some  per- 
sons who  are  masters  of  recitation  or  of  reading,  and  can 
thus  produce  a  great  effect.  In  this  manner,  doubtless, 
both  thoughts  and  words  can  be  better  weighed,  and  the 
speaker  can  deliver  what  he  has  to  say  with  greater  pre- 
cision. But  there  is  this  drawback,  that  the  discourse  is 
colder,  less  apposite,  and  approximates  too  nearly  to  dis- 
sertation. Nay,  should  any  unforeseen  circumstance 
occur,  such  as  an  objection,  a  rejoinder,  or  a  discussion 
of  any  kind,  the  speaker  not  expecting,  may  find  him- 
self stopped  short  or  at  fault,  to  the  great  detriment  of 
his  cause  or  his  subject.  Moreover,  a  preacher,  a  pro- 
fessor, or  a  senator,  who  is  liable  to  be  called  upon  to 
speak  at  any  moment,  has  not  always  the  time  to  com- 
\t)ose  a  discourse,  still  less  to  learn  it  by  rote.     In  speak- 


4  STATEMENT  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

ing  from  his  fullness,  therefore,  as  the  saying  is,  he  can 
speak  oftener,  and  produce  a  greater  effect,  if  he  speak 
well. 

His  speaking  will  also  be  more  lively  and  brilliant — 
more  real,  and  more  apposite.  Originating  with  the  oc- 
casion, and  at  the  very  moment,  it  will  bear  more  closely 
on  the  subject,  and  strike  with  greater  force  and  pre- 
cision. His  words  will  be  warmer  from  their  freshness, 
and  they  will  in  this  manner  communicate  increased 
fervor  to  the  audience.  They  will  have  all  the  energy 
of  an  instantaneous  effort,  and  of  a  sudden  burst. 

The  vitality  of  thought  is  singularly  stimulated  by  this 
necessity  of  instantaneous  production,  by  this  actual 
necessity  of  self-expression,  and  of  communication  to 
other  minds.  It  is  a  kind  of  child-bearing  in  public,  of 
which  the  speaker  feels  all  the  effort  and  all  the  pain, 
and  in  this  he  is  assisted  and  supported  by  the  sympathy 

/*       of  his  hearers,  who  witness  with  lively  interest  this  labor 

/  of  mental  life,  and  who  receive  with  pleasure  this 
bantling  of  thought;  that  is  to  say,  an  idea  well  con- 
ceived and  brought  to  light ;  well  formed,  with  a  fine  ex- 

\        pression,  or  with  a  body  of  graceful  and  well-constructed 

^       phraseology. 

But  it  is  not  our  object  to  compare  these  two  methods 
of  public  speaking,  nor  to  place  in  the  balance  their  ad- 
vantages and  defects.  It  is  possible  to  excel  in  both 
ways,  and  every  one  must  endeavor  to  discover  the  man- 
ner which  best  suits  him,  and  the  method  by  which,  ac- 
cording to  his  nature,  his  qualities,  and  his  position,  his 
words  can  achieve  the  greater  amount  of  good,  instruct 
more  clearly  and  more  fully,  and  touch  the  heart  more 
effectually.  AVhat  suits  one  does  not  suit  another.  God 
distributes  his  gifts  as  seems  best  to  Him ;  and  every  tree 
bears  fruit  according  to  its  kind.     It  is  important  for 


/ 


STATEMENT  OF  THE  SUBJECT  5 

man  to  discover  the  gift  he  has  received,  to  make  use  of 
it  with  usury,  and  to  discharge  faithfully  his  high  voca- 
tion. **Fiunt  oratores,  nascuntur  poetae,*'  has  said 
Quintilian;  meaning,  doubtless,  that  poetic  genius  is  a 
gift  from  heaven,  and  that  oratorical  talent  can  be  ac- 
quired. This  is  only  half  true;  for  if  teaching  and 
labor  can  contribute  to  the  formation  of  an  orator, 
neither  one  nor  the  other  will  give  him  the  germ  and  the 
power  of  eloquence.  They  can  excite  and  nourish,  but 
they  can  never  ignite  the  sacred  fire. 

But  amongst  those  who  have  received  this  divine  gift 
of  words  some  have  only  been  enabled  to  exercise  it  with 
the  pen,  and  occasionally  even  the  most  eloquent  writers 
are  incapable  of  delivering  in  public  that  which  they 
know  so  well  to  compose  in  private.  They  are  troubled 
and  embarrassed  before  even  the  least  imposing  audience. 
J.  J.  Rousseau  could  never  speak  in  public;  and  the 
Abbe  de  Lamennais,  whose  style  is  so  vigorous,  never 
ventured  to  enter  the  pulpit,  and  was  unable  to  address 
even  a  meeting  of  children. 

Others,  on  the  contrary,  possess  the  faculty  of  easily  ex- 
pressing in  public  their  feelings  and  their  thoughts.  The 
presence  of  hearers  stimulates  them,  and  augments  the 
elasticity  of  their  mind  and  the  vivacity  of  their  tongue. 
It  is  these  only  that  we  shall  address,  for  we  have  spoken 
in  this  manner  through  life  and  have  never  been  able  to  do 
otherwise.  i\Iany  a  time,  however,  have  we  made  the  at- 
tempt, by  preparing  an  exordium,  a  tirade,  or  a  perora- 
tion, with  the  intention  of  speaking  better  or  in  a  more 
striking  manner.  But  we  have  never  succeeded  in  re- 
citing what  we  had  prepared,  and  in  the  manner  in 
which  we  had  constructed  it.  Our  labored  composi- 
tions have  always  missed  their  object,  and  have  made  us 
embarrassed   or   obscure.     Thus,   it   appears,   we   were 


6  STATEMENT  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

made,  and  we  have  been  forced  to  follow  our  nature.  In 
such,  matters  the  lesson  to  be  learnt  is  in  turning  to  ac- 
count the  demands  of  nature  which  must  be  satisfied. 

As  extemporizing  a  speech  regards  the  form  only,  as 
has  been  before  stated,  it  follows  that,  before  attempting 
to  speak  in  this  manner,  two  things  are  necessary. 
1.  The  foundation  of  the  discourse,  or  the  thought  and 
succession  of  thoughts  to  be  expressed.  2.  The  means 
of  expression,  or  the  language  in  which  they  are  to  be 
spoken,  so  as  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  seeking  the  words 
at  the  same  moment  as  the  ideas,  and  the  risk  of  stopping 
short  of  or  being  embarrassed  in  the  composition  of  the 
phraseology.  In  other  terms,  the  speaker  must  know 
what  he  wishes  to  say  and  how  to  say  it. 

Improvisation,  therefore,  supposes  the  special  quali- 
fications on  which  we  are  about  to  speak,  not  precisely 
with  the  view  of  teaching  the  means  of  acquiring  them, 
as  for  the  most  part  they  are  gifts  of  nature ;  but  to  in- 
duce those  to  cultivate  and  develop  them  who  have  the 
good  fortune  to  possess  them ;  and,  above  all,  to  point  out 
the  signs  by  which  any  one  may  discover  whether  he  be 
capable  of  speaking  in  public,  and  how,  in  so  doing,  to 
succeed. 


CHAPTER  M 

THE   QUALIFICATIONS    NECESSARY   FOR   PUBLIC    SPEAKING 

At  the  root  of  every  real  talent,  whatever  it  may  be, 
there  lies  a  natural  aptness,  conferring  on  the  person  en- 
dowed with  it  a  particular  power;  and  this  aptness  de- 
pends alike  on  the~~lEteIIectual  temperament  and  the 
physical  organization;  for  man  being  essentially  com- 
posed of  mind  and  body,  all  that  he  does  in  reason,  or 
in  his  quality  as  a  reasonable  being,  comes  from  these 
two  portions  of  his  being  and  from  their  mutual  rela- 
tions. The  mind  commands,  it  is  true,  and  the  body 
must  obey  like  an  instrument;  but  the  instrument  has 
also  its  influence,  especially  over  the  talent  of  the  artist, 
by  the  manner  in  which  it  responds  to  his  wishes,  tq_his 
feelings,  to  the  motions  which  he  communicates  to  it,  to 
the  vigor  which  he  seeks  to  display.  Thus  speaking  is 
an  art  and  the  finest  of  arts ;  it  should  express  the  mind 
by  form,  ideas  by  words,  feelings  by  sounds,  all  that  the 
mind  feels,  thinks,  and  wishes  by  signs  and  external 
action.  To  obtain  skill  in  this  art,  therefore,  there  are 
some  qualifications  which  regard  the  mind,  and  others 
which  depend  on  the  body. 

The  dispositions  of  the  mind  are  natural  or  acquired. 
The  former,  which  we  are  about  to  set  forth  in  this  chap- 
ter, are — 

1.  A  lively  sensibility. 

2.  A  penetrating  intelligence. 

7 


^ 


8  NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

3.  A  soiind  reason,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  good 

sense. 

4.  A  prompt  imagination. 

5.  A  firm  and  decisive  will. 

6.  A  natural  necessity  of  expansion,  or  of  communi- 

cating to  others  ideas  and  feelings. 

7.  Finally,  a  certain  instinct  which  urges  a  man  to 

speak,  as  a  bird  to  sing. 

1— A  LIVELY  SENSIBILITY 

Art  has  its  root  in  sensibility,  and  although  it  de- 
pends much  on  the  body,  and  especially  on  the  nerves 
which  are  its  physical  medium,  sensibility  is  neverthe- 
less one  of  the  principal  powers  of  the  mind,  not  to  say 
a  faculty,  as  the  word  faculty  denotes  a  manner  of  acting, 
and  as  sensibility  is  a  manner  of  suffering  or  of  sustain- 
ing an  action. 

Thus  the  mind  which  lives  only  by  its  affinities,  and 
which  for  action  always  requires  an  impression,  acts 
only  in  proportion  to  the  incitements  it  receives,  and  the 
manner  in  which  it  receives  them.  It  is,  therefore,  in 
this  peculiar  manner  of  receiving  and  appropriating  im-'^ 
pressions  of  things  that  consists  the  vivacity  of  sensibility/ 
necessary  to  speaking,  as  to  every  artistic  expression. 
Every  man  feels  according  to  his  sensitiveness ;  but  all  do 
not  feel  in  the  same  manner,  and  thus  are  neither  able 
to  express  what  they  feel  in  the  same  manner,  nor  dis- 
posed to  the  same  kind  of  expression.  Hence  vocation 
to  the  different  arts,  or  the  natural  inclination  of  the 
mind  to  express  one  particular  thing  which  it  feels  the 
more,  and  with  the  greater  pleasure.  In  this,  also,  lies 
the  origin  of  taste  in  art,  and  for  a  particular  art, 
whether  in  the  exercise  of  such  art  or  in  the  appreciation 
of  its  works.     Some  have  more  taste  and  facility  in  the 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY  9 

plastic  arts ;  others  in  the  acoustic  arts ;  and  even  in  the 
exercise  of  the  same  art  there  are  different  dispositions  to 
a  certain  mode  of  expression  which  produce  different 
styles.  Thus  in  poetry  there  are  poets  who  compose  odes, 
epic  poetrj^,  tragedy,  comedy,  satyr,  idyls  and  eclogues, 
etc.,  etc.,  which  are  all  poetic  expressions  of  the  human 
mind ;  and  so  far  they  resemble  each  other ;  but  they  dif- 
fer in  the  object  which  they  reproduce,  in  the  manner  of 
representing  it,  and  a  poet  in  one  style  rarely  succeeds 
in  another.  He  can  sing  in  one  strain  and  not  otherwise, 
as  the  song  of  a  lark  is  not  that  of  a  nightingale. 

It  is  thus  in  the  art  of  speaking,  in  eloquence  as  re- 
gards the  object  to  be  expressed.  One  speaker  is  more 
suited  to  set  forth  ideas,  their  connection,  and  their  grada- 
tions. He  discerns  perfectly  the  congruity,  the  differ- 
ence^he  contrast  of  thoughts,  andThils  Tie"  will  deliver 
them  suddenly  with  miich  facility,  delicacy,  and  subtilty. 
He  has  perception,  a  tasteToFidea ;  he  conceives  it  dis- 
tinctly, and  will  therefore  enunciate  it  gracefully  and 
cleatly.  Such  a  one  is  made  to  teach  and  instruct. 
/^^Another  has  a  greater  enjoyment  of  everything  re- 
Jating  to  the  feelings,  the  affections,  to  soft  or  strong 
emotions.  He  will  "therefore  eHrphrjrwith  greater  pleas- 
ure and  greater  success  all  that  can  touch,  move,  and 
hurry  away:  he  will,  above  all,  cause  the  fibers  of  the 
heart  to  vibrate.  Such  a  one  will  be  an  orator  rather 
than  a  professor,  and  will  be  better  able  to  persuade  by 
emotion  than  to  convince  by  reason. 

A  third  delights  in  images  and  pictures.  He  feels 
more  vividly  everything  that  he  can  grasp  and  repro- 
duce in  his  imagination;  he  therefore  takes  pleasure  in 
these  reproductions.  Such  a  one  will  therefore  be 
specially  a  descriptive  speaker,  and  will  rise  almost  to 
poetry  in  his  prose.     He  will  speak  to  the  imagination 


v/ 


V 


10        NATURAL  QU4LITIES  NECESSARY 

of  his  hearers  rather  than  to  their  heart  or  mind :  he  will 
affect  but  little,  and  instruat-sttli  less ;  but'hFwill  be  able 
to  amuse  and  interest,  he  will  attract  by  originality,  by 
the  vane^oFhis  pictures,  and  by  the  vivacity  and  bril- 
liancy of  his  coloring. 

.In  these  different  instances  we  see  that  sensibility  is 
/vividly  excited  either  by  ideas,  by  feelings,  or  by  images ; 
<and  it  is  evident  that  he  who  would  extemporize  a  dis- 
course in  one  of  these  three  methods  must  begin  by  feel- 
ing vividly  the  subject  of  which  he  has  to  speak,  and 
that  his  expression  will  always  be  proportionate  to  the 
impression  of  it  he  will  have  received  and  retained. 

But  if  sensibility  must  be  strong,  it  must  nevertheless 
not  be  excited  to  excess;  for  it  then  renders  expression 
impossible  from  the  agitation  of  the  mind  and  the  over- 
excitement  of  the  nervous  system,  which  paralyzes  the 
organs.  Thus,  the  precept  of  Horace,  "Si  vis  me  flere, 
dolendum  est  primum  ipsi  tibi,"  is  true  only  for  those 
who  write  in  their  closet,  and  does  not  apply  to  the  ora- 
tor. Before  the  public,  he  must  not  weep,  nor  even  be 
moved  to  such  a  point  that  his  voice  will  fail  him,  or  be 
stifled  by  sobs ;  he  must  weep  with  his  voice,  and  not  with 
his  eyes ;  he  should  have  tears  in  his  voice,  but  so  as  to  be 
master  of  them. 

At  times,  doubtless,  a  great  effect  may  be  produced  by 
the  very  inability  to  speak,  caused  by  the  enthusiasm  of 
feeling  or  the  violence  of  grief ;  but  then  the  discourse  is 
finished,  or,  rather,  it  is  no  longer  needed,  and  little 
matter,  if  the  object  be  attained.  But,  for  the  art  of 
oratory,  sensibility  must  be  restrained  sufficiently  at 
least  for  words  to  run  their  proper  course.  The  feelings 
must  not  explode  at  once,  but  escape  little  by  little,  so  as 
gradually  to  animate  the  whole  body  of  the  discourse. 
It  is  thus  that  art  idealizes  nature  in  rejecting  all  that 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         11 

from  instinct  or  passion  may  be  too  rough  or  impetuous. 

The  character  of  Christian  art,  that  which  renders  it 
sublime,  is,  that  in  all  its  works  there  is  a  predominance 
of  mind  over  matter,  of  the  soul  over  the  body,  of  man 
over  nature.  Christian  feeling  is  never  intemperate, 
never  disorderly.  It  is  always  restrained  within  a  cer- 
tain poiut  by  the  power  of  that  will  which,  assisted  by 
the  higher  strength  supporting  it,  governs  events,  or 
rather,  does  not  yield  to  them ;  and  when  it  appears  over- 
come it  bends  beneath  the  storm  of  adversity,  but  is 
righted  by  resignation,  and  does  not  break.  It  is  more 
than  the  thinking  reed  of  Pascal ;  it  is  a  reed  that  wills. 
For  this  reason  the  types  of  Christian  art  will  never  be 
surpassed.  Never  beneath  the  sun  will  there  be  seen 
images  more  sublime  or  more  beautiful  than  the  figures 
of  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Virgin.  In  this  point  of  view 
the  Christian  orator,  inasmuch  as  he  is  a  Christian,  is 
very  superior  to  the  Pagan  orator :  he  conceives,  he  feels 
very  differently,  both  earthly  and  heavenly  things,  and 
his  manner  of  feeling  is  more  spiritual,  pure,  and  worthy 
of  man,  for  being  less  material,  it  gives  to  his  expression 
something  noble,  elevated  and  superhuman,  approaching 
the  language  of  heaven. 

The  same  may  be  said  for  the  statement  of  ideas.  It 
is  doubtless  necessary  that  they  should  be  felt  strongly 
with  all  that  they  embrace,  so  that  they  may  be  analyzed 
and  developed;  that  the  developed  may  be  re-embodied, 
again  concentrated,  and  reduced  to  unity.  In  this  oper- 
ation there  is  an  infinity  of  gradations  which  must  be 
delicately  perceived  and  appreciated.  But  if  this  feel- 
ing become5too  strong,  or  take  too  completely  possession 
of  the  mind,  analysis  or  exposition  becomes  impossible; 
the  speaker  is  absorbed  by  the  contemplation  only  of  the 
general  idea,  is  unable  to  enter  upon  its  development, 


Jf'i 


91 


12         NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

and  from  that  moment  he  is  incapable  of  speaking.  This 
is  the  case  with  men  of  genius,  but  of  an  exaggerated 
mental  sensibility,  who  feel  the  necessity  of  writing  to 
display  their  thoughts,  because  they  require  time  to  re- 
flect and  recover  themselves  from  the  fullness  of  the  idea 
which  overcomes  them  at  first,  or  when  they  are  required 
to  speak  of  a  sudden.  Such  was  probably  the  case  with 
Rousseau,  who  was  endowed  with  remarkable  sensibility 
of  mind.  It  may  even  happen  that  a  too  vehement  and 
over  exclusive  perception  of  an  idea  may  convert  it  into 
a  fixed  idea,  and  may  lead  to  madness.  Everything  is  so 
well  balanced  in  our  existence,  everything  must  be  done 
in  such  measure  and  proportion,  that,  no  sooner  do  we 
exceed,  however  little,  that  mean  point  where  lies  the 
relative  perception  of  humanity — than  we  fall  into  exag- 
geration, which  destroys  and  renders  powerless  as  much 
^  as  deficiency  itself. — In  medio  virtus. 

For  description,  sensibility,  and  even  exquisite  sensi- 
bility, is  required,  but  here  also  not  too  much,  otherwise 
we  wander  to  impressions  of  detail,  and  we  end  by  pro- 
ducing a  species  of  poem  or  monograph  of  each  flower  or 
object  which  pleases  us. 

It  is  what  is  called  in  painting  tableaux  de  genre, 
which  may  for  an  instant  attract  and  amuse,  but  which 
do  not  represent  one  deep  idea  or  one  worthy  of  art.  It 
is  in  literature  that  kind  of  poetrj^  or  romance  which  the 
Germans,  and  especially  the  English,  delight  in,  and 
which  consists  in  painting  in  the  greatest  detail  the  com- 
monest things  of  life.  Impressions  are  then  taken  from 
the  domestic  hearth,  from  the  life  of  a  family,  or  of  a 
country,  as  SBsthetic  sentiments,  as  effects  of  art,  falling 
into  a  paltry  realism,  which  lowers  art  in  making  it  de- 
scend to  the  commonplace  and  absurdities  of  reality. 
Finally,  it  is  the  defect  of  those  preachers  who  delight  in 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         13 

continual  descriptions,  whether  of  physical  or  of  moral 
nature,  whose  sermons,  subject  to  their  t^ste  for  imagery, 
are  only  galleries  of  pictures  which  may  amuse  those  who 
think  to  recognize  in  them  the  portraits  of  others,  but 
which  can  never  instruct  nor  touch  any  one.  He  who 
would  speak  well,  therefore,  must  feel  what  he  has  to 
say  with  sufficient  strength  to  express  it  with  warmth 
and  vivacity ;  but  his  feeling  must  not  attain  that  vehe- 
mence which  prevents  the  mind  from  acting,  and 
paralyzes  the  expression  from  the  very  fullness  of  the 
feeling.  This  would  be  a  sort  of  intellectual  apoplexy, 
taking  away  the  gift  of  speech,  and  rendering  it  power- 
less by  excess  of  life. 

2— KEEN  INTELLIGENCE 

In  speaking,  the  feeling  or  that  which  is  felt,  must  be 
resolved  "into  ideas,  thoughts,  images,  and  thence_into 
words,  phrases,"  language,  as  a  cloud  or  condensed  vapor 
is  transformed  and  distilled  into  rain.  *'Eloquium. 
Domini  sicut  imbres,"  says  the  Psalmist.  The  faculty 
which  effects  this  transformation,  by  the  operation  of  the 
mind  accounting  inwardly  and  reflectively  for  aU  that  is 
passing  through  it,  is  intelligence,  or  the  faculty  of  read- 
ing in  ourselves.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  animals  pos- 
sessing sensibility,  and  at  times  senses  even  more  subtle 
than  those  of  man,  are  incapable  of  speaking,  in  a  strict 
sense,  although,  like  all  other  beings  on  earth,  and  espe- 
cially living  beings,  they  have  a  spontaneous  language, 
by  which  is  naturally  manifested  all  that  takes  place  in 
them.  They  have  no  intelligence,  and  thus  they  have 
neither  consciousness  nor  reflection,  though  there  exists 
in  them  a  principle  of  life,  gifted  with  sensibility  and  in- 
stinct, which  gives  them  the  semblance  of  human  intelli- 
gence, but  it  cannot  be  maintained  that  they  are  reason- 


14         NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

able,  which  would  imply  liberty  and  moral  responsibility 
for  their  acts.  For  reason  to  exist,  it  is  necessary  that 
the  mind,  capable  of  feeling  and  seeing,  should  have  the 
power  of  self-possession  by  means  of  reflection,  and  to 
consider  and  analyze  by  thought  all  that  it  has  perceived 
and  seen.  Thus  is  formed  in  us  an  intellectual  world 
\y  peopled  by  our  conceptions,  that  is  to  say,  with  ideas, 
with  notions  and  images,  which  we  can  compare,  com- 
bine, and  divide  in  a  thousand  manners,  according  to 
their  approximation  or  their  difference;  and  which  are 
finally  expressed  in  speech — the  successive  development 
of  which  is  always  the  analysis  of  thought. 

Thus  every  extemporized  discourse  presupposes  a  pre- 
liminary operation  of  thought.     The  thought  must  have 

^  been  well  conceived,  held,  and  grasped  in  a  single  idea 
which  contains  the  whole  substance.  Then,  for  the  ex- 
position of  this  idea,  it  must  have  been  divided  into  its 
principal  parts,  or  into  other  subordinate  ideas  as  mem- 
bers of  it,  and  then  again  into  others  still  more  minutely, 
until  the  subject  is  exhausted.  This  multitude  of 
thoughts  must  be  well  arranged,  so  that  at  the  very  mo- 
ment each  may  arrive  in  the  place  marked  out  for  it,  and 
appear  in  its  turn  in  the  discourse  to  play  its  part  and 
fulfill  its  function,  the  value  of  which  consists  in  the  an- 
tecedents which  prepare  and  the  consequences  which  de- 
velop it,  as  figures  in  an  arithmetical  operation  have 
value  in  themselves  and  also  by  their  position. 

Much  intelligence  is  therefore  required  for  this  prepar- 
atory labor,  so  useful  in  extemporization;  or,  in  other 
words,  for  the  elaboration  of  a  plan,  without  which  it 
would  be  risk  to  hazard  on  ground  so  dangerous  and  so 
slippery.  The  first  condition  of  speaking  is  to  know 
what  is  intended  to  be  said,  and  the  greater  the  intelli- 

\y    gence  employed  in  the  preparation  of  the  speech,  and  the 


V 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         15 

more  clearly  is  it  conceived,  the  greater  the  probability 
of  presenting  it  well  to  others  or  of  speaking  well. 

That  which  is  well  conceived  is  clearly  enunciated. 

Nevertheless,  this  first  labor  is  not  sufficient;  it  is 
easy  enough  in  the  silence  of  the  closet,  pen  in  hand,  to 
elaborate  a  plan  to  be  committed  to  paper,  and  polished 
at  leisure.  But  this  plan  must  pass  from  the  paper 
to  the  head,  and  be  there  established  in  divisions  and 
subdivisions,  according  to  the  order  of  thoughts  both 
as  a  whole  and  in  detail ;  which  cannot  be  well  done,  and 
in  a  sure  and  lasting  manner,  unless  the  mind  keeps  the 
ideas  linked  by  their  intimate,  and  not  by  their  super- 
ficial relations — by  accidental  or  purely  external  associa- 
tions, such  as  are  formed  by  the  imagination  and  the 
senses.  In  a  word,  there  must  reign  between  all  the 
parts  of  the  plan  an  order  of  filiation  or  generation; 
which  is  caUed  the  logical  connection.  Thus,  the  logical 
connection  is  the  product  of  the  intelligence  w^hich  in- 
tuitively perceives  the  connection  of  ideas,  even  the  most 
removed  and  the  most  profound ;  and  of  the  reason  which 
completes  the  view  of  the  intelligence,  by  showing  on  the 
one  hand  connection  by  a  chain  of  intermediary  ideas, 
and  on  the  other  the  order  of  this  connection,  by  means 
of  reflection,  and  unites  them  in  a  thought  to  be  pre- 
sented, or  an  end  to  be  attained. 

Then  comes  a  third  step,  which  exacts  even  a  greater 
subtilty  and  greater  promptitude  of  mind.  This  plan 
which  has  been  committed  to  paper,  which  is  now  care- 
fully kept  in  the  head,  must  be  realized  in  words,  and 
endowed  with  flesh  and  life  in  the  discourse.  It  is  like 
dry  bones  which,  by  the  breath  of  the  orator,  are  of  a 
sudden  to  reassume  their  muscles,  nerves  and  skin,  and 
to  rise,  each  in  its  place,  to  form  a  living  body,  beautiful 
to  behold.     The  speaker  must  successively  pass  before 


me 
I  sin 


16        NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

his  hearers  all  that  he  carries  in  his  mind — all  his  ideas, 
in  suddenly  giving  to  each,  in  its  place,  body,  covering, 
color,  and  life.  He  should,  however,  while  speaking, 
Janus-like,  see  double;  within,  at  his  plan;  without,  at 
the  thread  of  his  discourse ;  so  as  to  keep  within  the  line 
of  his  thought,  without  disturbing  his  arrangement,  or 
diverging.  He  must,  finally,  be  able,  as  on  a  day  of 
battle,  suddenly  to  modify  what  he  has  beforehand  pre- 
pared; following  whatever  may  present  itself,  and  this 
without  relinquishing  his  principal  idea,  which  sustains 
all,  and  without  which  he  would  become  the  plaything  of 
chance.  He  requires  still  many  things,  which  will  be 
pointed  out  later,  when  we  shall  have  to  speak  of  the  dis- 
course itself ;  and  all  of  which,  like  those  which  we  have 
just  mentioned,  presumes  the  exercise  of  an  intense, 
rapid,  and  most  penetrating  intelligence. 

3— RIGHT  REASON  OR  GOOD  SENSE 

A  great  deal  of  talent  may  exist  without  common  sense, 
and  this  is  often  the  case  with  clever  persons,  and  espe- 
cially those  who  wish  to  appear  clever.  By  endeavoring 
to  study  objects  under  new  phases,  to  say  new  things,  or 
things  apparently  new,  they  end  by  never  considering 
them  in  a  right  light ;  and  the  habit  of  regarding  them  in 
all  manner  of  aspects,  takes  away  the  faculty  of  seeing 
them  in  full  and  directly,  in  their  true  meanings  and 
natural  bearings. 

Now,  nothing  is  so  fatal  to  extemporization  as  this 
wretched  facility  of  the  mind  for  losing  itself  in  details, 
and  neglecting  the  main  point.  "Without  at  this  mo- 
ment speaking  of  the  construction  of  the  plan,  wherein 
simplicity  and  clearness,  to  which  good  sense  is  singularly 
condiicive,  ought,  above  all  things,  to  prevail,  it  is  evi- 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         17 

dent  that  this  quality,  so  useful  in  conduct  and  in  busi- 
ness, is  more  than  ever  so  in  the  instantaneous  formation 
of  a  discourse,  and  in  the  dangerous  task  of  extempo- 
rizing, whether  as  regards  matter  or  manner. 

Good  sense  is  the  instinctive  action  of  right  reason, 
discriminating  with  a  rapidity  of  feeling,  and  by  a  sort 
of  taste,  what  is  or  is  not  suitable  in  any  given  situation. 
Therefore,  it  is  a  sudden  appreciation  of  a  thousand 
bearings  depending  on  circumstances,  as  when,  amidst 
the  fervor  of  delivery  and  from  the  general  effect  of  the 
address — things  not  to  be  estimated  by  the  plan  alone, 
but  declaring  themselves  on  the  instant — an  idea  on 
which  stress  should  be  laid — ^what  part  of  it  should  be 
neglected — ^^^hat  should  be  compressed — what  should  be 
enlarged  upon — must  all  be  promptly  seized.  Then  a 
new  thought  which  suggests  itself  and  must  be  intro- 
duced— an  explanation  which  might  run  to  too  great  a 
length  and  which  must  be  abridged — an  emotion  or  ef- 
fect to  be  excited  as  you  pass  on  without  losing  sight  of 
the  main  effect — a  digression  into  which  you  may  enter 
without  breaking  the  guiding  thread  of  this  labyrinth 
and  while  at  need  recovering  it — all  have  to  be  judged 
of,  decided  upon,  and  executed  at  the  very  moment  it- 
self, and  during  the  unsuspended  progress  of  the  dis- 
course. 

The  same  applies  to  the  form  or  style  of  the  speech. 
How  many  mental  and  literary  proprieties  to  be  ob- 
served! A  doubtful  phrase  coming  into  the  mouth  and 
to  be  discarded — an  ambitious,  pretentious  expression  to 
be  avoided — a  trite  or  commonplace  term  which  occurs 
and  to  be  excluded — a  sentence  which  is  opened  with  a 
certain  boldness  and  the  close  of  which  is  not  yet  clear 
— even  while  you  are  finishing  the  development  of  one 
period,  your  view  thrown  forward  to  the  next  thought, 


18         NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

and  to  the  link  which  is  to  connect  it  with  that  which 
you  are  ending!  Truly  there  is  enough  to  produce  gid- 
diness when  one  reflects  on  the  matter ;  nevertheless,  the 
discernment  of  such  a  multiplicity  of  points  must  be 
instantaneous,  and  indeed  it  is  performed  with  a  kind 
of  certainty,  and  as  it  were  of  its  own  accord,  if  the  sub- 
ject have  been  fitly  prepared,  if  you  be  thoroughly  in 
possession  of  it,  and  if  you  be  well  inclined  at  the  mo- 
ment. 

But  in  order  to  walk  with  this  direct  and  firm  step 
through  a  discourse,  which  arises,  as  it  were,  before  the 
orator  in  proportion  as  he  advances,  like  an  enchanted 
forest,  all  teeming  with  sorceries  and  apparitions,  in 
which  so  many  different  paths  cross  each  other — in  order 
to  accept  none  of  these  brilliant  phantoms  save  those 
which  can  be  serviceable  to  the  subject,  dispelling  like 
vain  shadows  all  the  rest — in  order  to  choose  exactly  the 
road  which  best  leads  to  your  destination,  and,  above  all, 
to  keep  constantly  in  that  which  you  have  marked  out  for 
yourself  beforehand,  shunning  all  the  other  byways, 
however  alluring  they  may  appear,  and  not  allowing 
yourself  to  be  carried  away  or  to  swerve  from  your  line, 
either  in  gait  or  deportment — you  most  assuredly  re- 
quire that  clear,  decisive,  and  certain  sight  which  good 
sense  gives,  and  that  kind  of  instinct  or  taste  for  truth 
which  it  alone  produces. 

4— READINESS  OF  IMAGINATION 

Imagination  is  like  a  double-faced  mirror,  in  part 
turned  towards  the  outer  world,  and  reflecting  its  ob- 
jects, in  part  towards  the  light  of  ideas,  tinging  it  with 
its  hues,  forming  it  into  representations,  and  disposing 
it  in  pictures,  while  decomposing  it  as  the  prism  the 
solar  ray.     It  is  thus  that  speech  renders  metaphysical 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         19 

objects  more  approachable  and  comprehensible;  it  gives 
them  a  body,  or  a  raiment,  which  makes  them  visible  and 
almost  palpable. 

Imagination  is  one  of  the  most  necessary  of  the  ora-_ 
tor's  faculties,  and  especially  to  him  who  extemporizes, 
T^rsi,  in  otder  that  he  may  be  able  to  fix  his  plan  well 
■"  m  his  mind — -for  it  is  chiefly  hy  means  j3f .^the  imagina- 
tion that  it  is  there  fixed,  or  painted;  in  the  second 
place,  in  order  that  it  may  be  preserved  there  in  full 
life,  well  connected,  and  well  arranged,  until  the  mo- 
ment for  realizing  it  or  putting  it  forth  by  means  of 
the  discourse.  Imagination  is  also  very  useful  to  him 
in  order  to  represent  suddenly  to  himself  what  he  wishes 
to  express  to  others  when  a  new  thought  arises,  and 
when  an  image,  germinating,  as  it  were,  in  the  heat  of 
oratorical  action,  like  a  flower  opening  forthwith  under 
the  sun's  rays,  is  presented  unexpectedly  to  the  mind. 
Then  the  instant  he  has  a  glimpse  of  it,  after  having 
rapidly  decided  whether  it  suits  the  subject  and  befits 
its  place,  he,  while  yet  speaking,  seizes  it  eagerly,  passes 
it  warm  beneath  the  active  machinery  of  the  imagina- 
tion, extends,  refines,  develops,  makes  it  ductile  and  glit- 
tering, and  marks  it  at  once  with  some  of  the  types  or 
molds  which  imagination  possesses.  Or  else,  if  we 
may  be  allowed  another  comparison,  the  thought  passes 
through  the  presses  of  the  imagination,  like  those  sheets 
of  paper  which  revolve  between  the  cylinders  of  mechan- 
ical presses,  and  issue  forth  all  covered  with  characters 
and  images. 

Now  this  most  complicated  and  subtle  labor  must  be 
performed  with  the  quickness  of  lightning,  amidst  the 
onward  current  of  the  discourse,  which  cannot  be  ar- 
rested or  slackened  without  becoming  languid.  The 
imagination  ought  then  to  be  endowed  with  great  quick- 


20         NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

ness  in  the  formation  and  variation  of  its  pictures;  but 
it  requires  also  great  clearness,  in  order  to  produce  at 
the  first  effort,  a  well-marked  image,  the  lines  and  out- 
lines defined  with  exactitude,  and  the  tints  bright — so 
that  language  has  only  to  reproduce  it  unhesitatingly, 
and  unconfusedly,  as  an  object  is  faithfully  represented 
in  a  spotless  glass.  For  you  must  not  grope  for  your 
words  while  speaking,  under  penalty  of  braying  like  a 
donkey,  which  is  the  death  of  a  discourse.  The  expres- 
sion of  the  thought  must  be  effected  at  the  first  stroke, 
and  decidedly — a  condition  which  hinders  many  men, 
and  even  men  of  talent,  from  speaking  in  public.  Their 
imagination  is  not  sufficiently  supple,  ready,  or  clear; 
it  works  too  slowly,  and  is  left  behind  by  the  lightning  of 
the  thought,  which  at  first  dazzles  it,  a  result  due  either 
to  a  natural  deficiency,  or  to  want  of  practice ;  or  else — 
and  this  is  the  most  general  case  with  men  of  talent,  it 
arises  from  allowing  the  mind  to  be  too  much  excited 
and  agitated  in  the  presence  of  the  public  and  in  the 
hurry  of  the  moment;  whence  a  certain  incapacity  for 
speaking,  not  unlike  inability  to  walk  produced  by  gid- 
diness. 

5— FIRMNESS  AND  DECISION  OF  WILL 

Unquestionably  courage  is  necessary  to  venture  upon 
/speaking  in  public.    To  rise  before  an  assembly,  often 
\  numerous  and  imposing,  without  books  or  notes,  carry- 
'  ing  everything  in  the  head,  and  to  undertake  a  discourse 
in  the  midst  of  general  silence,  with  all  eyes  fixed  on 
you,  under  the  obligation  of  keeping  that  audience  at- 
tentive and  interested  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  an 
hour,   and  sometimes  longer,  is  assuredly  an  arduous 
task  and  a  weighty  burden.    All  who  accept  this  bur- 
den, or  have  it  imposed  upon  them,  know  how  heavy  it 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         21 

is,  and  what  physical  and  mental  suffering  is  experienced 
until  it  is  discharged.  Timidity  or  hesitation  will  make 
a  person  incapable  of  the  duty ;  and  such  will  always  re- 
coil from  the  dangers  of  the  situation. 

When,  indeed,  it  is  remembered,  how  little  is  required 
to  disconcert  and  even  paralyze  the  orator — ^his  own  con- 
dition, bodily  and  moral,  which  is  not  always  favorable 
at  a  given  moment — that  of  the  hearers  so  unstable  and 
prone  to  vary  never  known — the  distractions  which  may 
assail  and  divert  him  from  his  subject — the  failure  per- 
haps of  memory,  so  that  a  part  of  the  plan,  and  occa- 
sionally its  main  division,  may  be  lost  on  the  instant 
— ^the  inertness  of  the  imagination,  which  may  play  him 
false,  and  bring  feebly  and  confusedly  to  the  mind  what 
it  represents — the  escape  of  an  unlucky  expression 
— the  not  finding  the  proper  term — a  sentence  badly 
begun,  out  of  which  he  no  longer  knows  his  way 
— and  finally,  all  the  influences  to  which  he  is  sub- 
jected, and  which  converge  upon  him  from  a  thou- 
sand eyes — ^when  all  these  things  are  borne  in  mind,  it  is 
truly  enough  to  make  a  person  lose  head  or  heart,  and 
the  only  wonder  is  that  men  can  be  found  who  will  face 
such  dangers,  and  fling  themselves  into  the  midst  of 
Ky^  them.  Nor,  indeed,  ought  they  to  be  courted  save  when 
duty  urges,  when  your  mission  enjoins  it,  or  in  order  to 

•  fulfill  some  obligation  of  conscience  or  of  position.  Any 
other  motive — such  as  ambition,  vainglory,  or  interest — 
exposes  you  to  cruel  miscalculations  and  well-merited 
downfalls. 

/  The  strength  of  will  needful  to  face  such  a  situation 

lis  of  course  aided  and  sustained  by  a  suitable  prepara- 

y^  tion ;  and,  of  all  preparations  the  best  is  to  know  well 

what  you  would  say,  and  to  have  a  clear  conception  of 

it.    But  yet,  besides  the  possession  of  the  idea  and  the 


22         NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

chain  of  the  thoughts  on  which  you  have  a  good  hold, 
there  is  still  the  hazard  of  uttering  appropriate  or  inap- 
propriate words.  Who  is  assured  beforehand,  that,  on 
such  a  day,  expressions  will  not  prove  rebellious  to  him, 
that  the  right  phrase  will  come  in  the  place  appointed, 
and  that  language  (like  a  sword)  will  not  turn  its  edge? 
It  is  in  the  details  of  diction  at  the  moment,  or  the  in- 
stantaneous composition  of  the  discourse  and  of  sen- 
tences, that  great  decision  is  required  to  select  words  as 
they  fly  past,  to  control  them  immediately,  and,  amidst 
many  unsuitable,  to  allow  none  but  what  are  suitable 
to  drop  from  the  lips.  Moreover,  a  certain  boldness  is 
required — and  who  knows  whether  it  will  always  be  a 
successful  boldness? — to  begin  the  development  of  any 
sudden  idea,  without  knowing  whither  it  will  lead  you — 
to  obey  some  oratorical  inspiration  which  may  carry 
you  far  away  from  the  subject,  and  finally,  to  enter,  and 
to  jump,  as  it  were,  with  both  feet  together,  into  a  sen- 
tence, the  issue  of  which  you  cannot  foresee,  particularly 
in  French,  which  has  only  one  possible  class  of  termina- 
tions to  its  periods.  Nevertheless,  when  once  you  have 
begun,  you  must  rigidly  beware  of  retreating  by  any 
break  in  the  thought  or  in  the  sentence.  You  must  go 
on  daringly  to  the  end,  even  though  you  take  refuge  in 
some  unauthorized  turn  of  expression  or  some  incorrect- 
ness of  language.  Timid  minds  are  frightened  from 
adopting  these  extreme  resources;  for  which  reason  we 
affirm  that  to  expose  oneself  to  this  hazard — and  who- 
ever extemporizes  does  so — decision  and  even  a  little 
rashness  of  will  are  necessary,  beforehand  and  during 
the  process,  in  order  to  sustain  it,  to  undergo  all  with- 
out fainting,  and  to  reach  the  destination  without  a 
serious  wound,  or,  at  all  events,  without  a  fall. 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         23 

6— EXPANSIVENESS  OF  CHARACTER 

There  are  two  sorts  of  expansiveness,  that  of  the  mind 
and  that  of  the  heart. 

The  mind  seeks  after  truth,  which  is  its  natural  ob- 

Now  truth  is  like  light,  or  rather,  it  is  the  light  of 
the  intelligence;  and  this  is  why  it  is  diffusive  by  its 
very  nature,  and  spontaneously  enters  wherever  an  ave- 
nue is  opened  to  it.  When,  therefore,  we  perceive  or 
think  that  we  perceive  a  truth,  the  mind  rejoices  in  and 
feeds  upon  it,  because  it  is  its  natural  aliment ;  in  assimi- 
lating and  appropriating  it,  the  mind  partakes  of  its  ex- 
pansive force,  and  experiences  the  desire  of  announcing 
to  others  what  it  knows  itself,  and  of  making  them  see 
what  it  sees.  It  is  its  happiness  to  become  a  torch  of 
this  light,  and  to  help  in  diffusing  it.  It  sometimes  even 
glories  in  the  joy  it  feels;  the  pride  also  of  enlightening 
our  fellows,  and  so  of  ruling  them  to  a  certain  extent, 
and  of  seeming  above  them,  is  part  of  the  feeling.  A 
keen  and  intelligent  mind,  which  seeks  truth,  seizes  it 
quickly  and  conceives  it  clearly,  is  more  eager  than  an- 
other to  communicate  what  it  knows ;  and  if,  along  with 
this,  such  a  mind  loves  glory — and  who  loves  it  not,  at 
least  in  youth? — it  will  be  impelled  the  more  towards 
public  speaking,  and  more  capable  of  exercising  the 
power  of  eloquence. 

But  there  is,  besides,  a  certain  disposition  of  char- 
acter and  heart  which  contributes  much  to  the  same  re- 
sult, as  is  seen  in  women  and  children,  who  speak  will- 
ingly and  with  great  ease,  on  account  of  their  more  im- 
pressionable sensibility,  the  delicacy  of  their  organs,  and 
their  extreme  mobility.  Something  of  this  is  required 
in  the  extemporizer.     A  self-centered  person,  who  re- 


24        NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

fleets  a  great  deal  and  meditates  long  before  he  can  per- 
ceive a  truth,  or  seize  an  analogy,  and  who  either  can- 
not or  will  not  manifest  what  he  feels  or  thinks  until  he 
has  exactly  shaped  the  expression  of  it,  is  not  fitted  for 
extemporaneous  speaking,  A  melancholy,  morose,  mis- 
anthropic person,  who  shuns  society,  dreads  the  inter- 
course of  men,  and  delights  in  solitary  musing,  will  have 
a  difficulty  in  speaking  in  public;  he  has  not  the  taste 
for  it,  and  his  nature  is  against  it.  What  is  needed  for 
this  art,  with  a  quick  mind,  is  an  open,  confiding,  and 
cheerful  character,  which  loves  men  and  takes  pleasure 
in  joining  itself  to  others.  Mistrust  shuts  the  heart,  the 
mind,  and  the  mouth. 

This  expansiveness  of  character,  which  is  favorable 
to  extemporaneous  speaking,  has  certainly  its  disadvan- 
tages also.  It  sometimes  gives  to  the  mind  an  unsettled 
levity  and  too  much  recklessness,  and  something  venture- 
some or  superficial  to  the  style.  But  these  disadvantages 
may  be  lessened  or  neutralized  by  a  serious  prepara- 
tion, by  a  well-considered  and  well-defined  plan,  which 
will  sustain  and  direct  the  exuberance  of  language,  and 
remove  by  previous  reflection  the  chances  of  digressive- 
ness  and  in  consequence. 

7— INSTINCTIVE  OR  NATURAL  GIFT  OF  SPEAKING 

,Art  may  develop,  and  perfect  the  talent  of  a  speaker, 
but  cannot  produce  it.  The  exercises  of  grammar  and 
of  rhetoric  will  teach  a  person  how  to  speak  correctly 
and  elegantly ;  but  nothing  can  teach  him  to  be  eloquent, 
or  give  that  eloquence  which  comes  from  the  heart  and 
goes  to  the  heart.  All  the  precepts  and  artifices  on 
earth  can  but  form  the  appearances  or  semblance  of  it. 
Now  this  true  and  natural  eloquence  which  moves,  per- 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         25 

suades,  and  transports,  consists  of  a  soul  and  a  body, 
like  man,  whose  ima^e,  glory,  and  word  it  is. 

The  soul  of  eloquence  is  the  center  of  the  human  soul 
itself,  which,  enlightened  by  the  rays  of  an  idea,  or 
warmed  and  stirred  by  an  impression,  flashes  or  bursts 
forth  to  manifest,  by  some  sign  or  other,  what  it  feels  or 
sees.  This  it  is  which  gives  movement  and  life  to  a 
discourse ;  it  is  like  a  kindled  torch,  or  a  shuddering  and 
vibrating  nerve. 

The  body  of  eloquence  is  the  language  which  it  re- 
quires in  order  to  speak,  and  which  must  harmoniously 
clothe  what  it  thinks  or  feels,  as  a  fine  shape  harmonizes 
with  the  spirit  which  it  contains.  The  material  part  of 
language  is  learnt  instinctively,  and  practice  makes  us 
feel  and  seize  its  delicacies  and  shades.  The  understand- 
ing then,  which  sees  rightly  and  conceives  clearly,  and 
the  heart  which  feels  keenly,  find  naturally,  and  without 
effort,  the  words  and  the  arrangement  of  words  most 
analogous  to  what  is  to  be  expressed.  Hence  the  innate 
talent  of  eloquence,  which  results  alike  from  certain  in- 
tellectual and  moral  aptitudes,  and  from  the  physical 
constitution,  especially  from  that  of  the  senses  and  of 
the  organs  of  the  voice. 

There  are  men  organized  to  speak  well  as  there  are 
birds  organized  to  sing  well,  bees  to  make  honey,  and 
beavers  to  build. 

Doubtless,  all  men  are  capable  of  speaking,  since  they 
are  rational  beings,  and  the  exercise  of  reason  is  im- 
possible without  speech;  beyond  all  doubt,  moreover, 
any  man  may  become  momentarily  eloquent,  being  sud- 
denly illuminated  by  an  idea,  by  some  passing  inspira- 
tion, or  the  vehement  impulse  of  a  feeling,  or  a  desire; 
bursts  also  and  cries  of  passion  are  often  of  a  high  kind 


26        NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY 

of  eloquence.  But  it  is  the  effect  of  an  instant,  which 
passes  away  with  the  unusual  circumstances  which  have 
produced  it;  during  the  rest  of  their  lives  these  same 
persons  may  speak  very  ill,  and  be  incapable  of  pro- 
nouncing a  sentence  in  public.  They  have  not  the  gift 
of  words,  and  those  alone  who  are  endowed  with  it  by 
nature,  can  derive  advantage  from  the  advice  we  offer, 
in  order  to  turn  this  precious  talent  to  account  in  the 
service  of  truth  and  justice. 

It  is  with  eloquence  as  with  all  art;  to  succeed  in  it 
you  must  be  made  for  it,  or  called  to  it  incessantly,  and 
in  a  manner  almost  unconquerable,  by  a  mysterious 
tendency  or  inexplicable  attraction,  which  influences  the 
whole  being,  which  ultimately  turns  to  its  object,  as  the 
magnetic  needle  to  the  north.  At  the  root  of  all  arts, 
so  various  in  their  expression,  there  is  something  in  com- 
mon to  them  all — namely,  the  life  of  the  soul,  the  life  of 
the  mind,  which  feels  the  want  of  diffusing,  manifesting, 
and  multiplying  itself;  each  individual  also  has  some- 
thing peculiar  and  original,  by  which  he  is  impelled,  on 
account  of  his  special  organization,  or  constitution  of 
mind  and  body,  to  reproduce  his  mental  life  in  such  or 
such  a  way,  by  such  or  such  means,  or  in  such  or  such  a 
material  form.  Hence  the  boundless  diversity  of  the 
arts  and  of  their  productions.  Speech^js_certainly  the 
noblest  and  most  powerful  of  the  artsTfirst,  because  by 
its  nature,  it  is  nearest  to  the  intelligence  whose  ideas  it 
alone  perfectly  expresses;- secondly.  In  "consequence  of 
the  higher  purity,  the  more  exquisite  delicacy  of  its 
means  of  expression,  being  the  least  gross  of  any,  hold- 
ing on  to  earth  by  nothing  save  a  light  breatff*\^  lastly, 
on  account  of  its  great  directness  of  action,  so  powerful 
over  the  mind,  making  it  conceive  things,  comprehend 
thought,  and  grasp  the  truth. 


NATURAL  QUALITIES  NECESSARY         27 

In  order,  then,  to  exercise  with  success  the  art  j)f 
speaking — or  to  speak  eloquently— it  is  necessary  to 
have  a  natural  talent,  whichTs^^ -^f t  of  Heaven,  and 
which  all  science  wi£h  its  precepts,  and  all  earth's  teach- 
ing with  its  exercises,  are  unable  to  supply. 


CHAPTER  III 

MENTAL    APTITUDES    FOR    PUBLIC    SPEAKING,    CAPABLE    OF 
BEING  ACQUIRED,   OR  FORMED   BY   STUDY 

The  dispositions  which  can  be  acquired,  or  formed  by 
study,  come  next  after  the  natural  aptitudes  of  the 
mind,  and  these  will  be  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

We  give  the  name  of  acquired  dispositions  to  certain 
aptitudes  of  mind,  the  germ  of  which  is  no  doubt  sup- 
plied by  nature,  but  which  may  be  called  forth  and  de- 
veloped in  a  remarkable  manner  by  instruction,  practice, 
and  habit,  whereas  purely  natural  talent,  although  it 
also  may  be  perfected  by  art,  resembles,  nevertheless,  to 
a  certain  extent,  that  instinct  which  attains  its  object  at 
the  first  effort.  It  may  even  happen  that  a  remarkable 
acquired  ability,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  art  of  speak- 
ing rhetorically,  has  but  slight  natural  root,  that  is,  but 
little  real  talent,  producing  nothing  except  by  dint  of 
art,  practice,  and  toil ;  but  if  the  natural  root  be  absent, 
however  beautiful  the  products  may  at  first  appear,  peo- 
ple soon  feel  their  artificial  character  and  want  of 
life. 

The  acquired  mental  aptitudes  are,  the  art  or  method 
of  thinking  and  the  art  or  method  of  saying.  But  be- 
fore considering  them,  we  will  say  a  few  words  about 
the  orator's  fund  or  store  of  acquirements,  which  must 
not  be  confounded  with  acquired  qualities. 

1— ACQUISITIONS  OR  FUND  NEEDFUL  TO  THE  ORATOR 

The  orator's  capital  is  that  sum  of  science  or  knowl- 
edge which  is  necessary  to  him  in  order  to  speak  per- 

28 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  29 

tinently  upon  any  subject  whatever;  and  science  or 
Imowledge  are  not  extemporized.  Although,  knowledge 
does  not  give  the  talent  for  speaking,  still  he  who  knows 
wtU  what  he  has  to  say,  has  many  chances  of  saying  it 
well,  especially  if  he  has  a  clear  and  distinct  concep- 
tion of  it. 

"\Vhat  you  conceive  aright  you  express  clearly; 
And  the  words  to  say  it  in,  come  easily." 

It  is  an  excellent  preparation,  then,  for  the  art  of 
speaking  to  study  perseveringly — not  merely  the  mat- 
ter about  which  you  have  to  discourse — a  thing  always 
done  before  speaking  in  public,  unless  a  person  be  pre- 
sumptuous and  demented — but  generally  all  those  sub- 
jects which  form  part  of  a  liberal  education,  and  which 
constitute  the  usual  instruction  of  men  intended  for  in- 
tellectual and  moral  professions.  These  were  what  were 
formerly  termed  classical  studies,  and  they  included 
grammar,  rhetoric,  logic,  a  certain  portion  of  litera- 
ture, history,  mathematical  and  physical  science,  and  re- 
ligious knowledge.  These  '* classical  studies''  were  per- 
fected and  completed  by  the  superior  courses  of  the  uni- 
versities. 

To  have  gone  through  a  good  educational  career,  or 
been  distinguished  at  school,  as  it  is  commonly  ex- 
pressed, is  an  immense  advantage ;  for  it  is  in  childhood 
and  youth  that  the  greatest  number  of  things  are  learnt, 
and  learnt  best,  in  the  sense,  that  knowledge  acquired  at 
that  age  is  the  most  durable.  It  is  more  than  this,  it  is 
ineffaceable,  and  constitutes  an  indestructible  fund,  a 
sort  of  mental  ground-work  upon  which  is  raised  all 
other  instruction  and  education;  and  this  fund,  accord- 
ing to  the  manner  in'  which  it  is  placed  in  the  mind 
determines  the  solidity  and  dimensions  of  each  person's 
intellectual  and  moral  existence. 


30  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

It  is  impossible  to  estimate  accurately  the  influence  of 
the  first  instruction  which  a  man  receives:  that  influ- 
ence depends  upon  the  virtue  of  the  words  which  in- 
struct, and  on  the  way  they  are  received.  It  is  a  sort  of 
fertilization,  the  fruits  of  which  are  sometimes  slow  in 
ripening,  and  come  forth  late.  As  the  life-giving  action 
of  instruction  cannot  be  exercised  except  by  words  and 
the  signs  of  language,  the  form  often  overlies  the  spirit, 
and  many  retain  scarcely  more  than  the  letter  or  the 
words,  which  they  reproduce  from  memory  with  great 
facility.  The  larger  part  of  infantine  successes  and 
collegiate  glories  consist  of  this.  Others,  on  the  con- 
trary, deeply  smitten  with  the  spirit  of  what  is  said, 
early  conceive  ideas  of  a  fertile  kind  destined  to  be- 
come the  parent  ideas  of  all  their  future  thoughts.  The 
more  impressed  and  absorbed  their  mind  is  interiorly, 
the  less  vivid,  the  less  brilliant  it  appears  exteriorly. 
It  carries  within  it  confusedly  ideas  which  are  too  great 
for  what  contains  them,  and  of  which  it  cannot  yet 
render  to  itself  an  account;  and  it  is  only  afterwards, 
when  it  has  capacity  and  time  for  reflection,  that  it 
knows  how  to  recognize,  turn  to  advantage,  and  bring 
forth  to  the  light,  the  treasures  buried  within. 

Hence  two  kinds  of  fund  or  of  intellectual  wealth,  the 
\y  fruit  of  instruction,  and  derived  from  the  manner  in 
which  it  has  been  given  and  received. 

1.  A  collection  of  words,  expressions,  images,  facts, 
superficial  thoughts,  common  places — things  commonly 
received  and  already  discussed;  whatever,  in  a  word, 
strikes  the  senses,  excites  the  imagination,  and  easily 
impresses  itself  upon  the  memory.  It  is  not  to  be 
denied  that  this  intellectual  baggage,  however  light,  ac- 
cumulated during  many  years,  and  arranged  with  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  order,  may  be  of  some  service  towards 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  31 

speaking  with  facility  on  some  occasions,  but  then  like 
a  rhetorician;  that  is,  composing  on  the  instant  a  sort 
of  discourse  or  harangue  more  or  less  elegant,  wherein 
there  may  be  certain  happy  expressions  but  few  ideas, 
and  which  may  yet  afford  a  transient  pleasure  to  the 
listener,  without  moving  or  instructing  him.  In  many 
circumstances,  discourses  of  this  class  are  in  keeping; 
they  at  least  suffice.  It  is  a  part  played  in  a  given 
situation,  a  portion  of  the  program  performed,  and 
it  is  assuredly  an  advantage  not  to  be  despised  to  acquit 
oneself  of  it  with  honor,   or  even  without  discredit. 

2.  But  the  real  fund  is  in  ideas,  not  in  phrases,  in  the 
succession  or  connection  of  the  thoughts,  and  not  in  a 
series  of  facts  or  images.  He  who  has  laid  in  a  store 
in  this  manner  is  not  so  ready  at  a  speech,  because  there 
is  within  him  a  veritable  thought  with  which  his  spirit 
strives  in  order  to  master,  possess,  and  manifest  it,  so 
soon  as  he  shall  have  thoroughly  entered  into  it;  such 
a  man  speaks  not  merely  from  memory  or  imagination, 
only  and  always  with  a  labor  of  the  understanding, 
and  then  what  he  produces  is  something  with  life  in  it 
and  capable  of  inspiring  life — and  this  is  just  what 
distinguishes  the  orator  from  the  rhetorician. 

The  latter  may  charm  by  his  language,  but  he  im- 
parts no  life ;  and  thus  nothing  is  produced  in  the  mind 
of  the  hearer.  It  is  pleasant  music  which  delights  the 
ear  for  a  moment,  and  leaves  nothing  behind  it.  Vox  et 
prceterea  niliU. 

The  former  raises  up  a  new  set  of  objects  in  the 
hearer's  mind,  producing  therein  feelings,  affections, 
emotions,  ideas;  he  renews  it,  transforms  it,  and  turns 
it  into  a  likeness  of  himself ;  and  as  the  Almighty  created 
all  things  by  His  word,  so  the  true  orator  animates 
those  who  understand  him  by  his,  and  makes  them  live 


V 


32  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

with  his  own  intellectual  life.  But  in  this,  as  in  all 
things,  it  is  only  by  a  Divine  virtue  that  life  is  trans- 
mitted. The  sacred  fire  which  warms  the  bosom  of  the 
orator  is  inspiration  from  on  high :  pectus  est  quod  diser- 
tum  facit.  "Without  this  life-giving  fire,  the  finest 
phrases  that  can  be  put  together  are  but  sounding  brass 
and  tinkling  cymbals. 

The  fund  to  be  amassed,  therefore,  by  those  who  in- 
tend to  speak  in  public,  is  a  treasury  of  ideas,  thoughts, 
and  principles  of  knowledge,  strongly  conceived,  firmly 
linked  together,  carefully  wrought  out,  in  such  a  way 
that,  throughout  all  this  diversity  of  study,  the  mind,  so 
far  as  may  be,  shall  admit  nothing  save  what  it  thor- 
oughly comprehends,  or  at  least  has  made  its  own  to  a 
certain  extent,  by  meditation.  Thus,  knowledge  be- 
comes strangely  melted  down,  not  cumbersome  to  the  un- 
derstanding; and  not  overburdening  the  memory.  It  is 
the  essence  of  things  reduced  to  their  simplest  ex- 
pression, and  comprising  all  their  concentrated  virtue. 
It  is  the  drop  of  oil  extracted  from  thousands  of  roses, 
and  fraught  with  their  accumulated  odors;  the  healing 
power  of  a  hundred-weight  of  bark  in  a  few  grains  of 
quinine.  In  a  word,  it  is  the  idea  in  its  intellectuality, 
and  metaphysical  purity,  compared  to  the  multiplicity 
of  facts  and  images  from  which  it  has  been  extracted, 
and  of  which  it  is  the  law.  This  point  is  not  well 
enough  understood  in  our  day,  when  material  things 
are  made  paramount,  and  the  spirit  is  postponed  to  the 
letter — to  such  a  degree  indeed  that  even  in  instruction, 
and  in  spiritual  or  mental  things,  no  less  than  in  all 
else,  quantity  is  considered  more  than  quality. 

Under  the  specious  pretext  of  preparing  men  betimes 
for  their  future  profession  in  society,  and  of  making 
them  what  are  called  special  men,  their  attention  is  di- 


ACQUIEED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  33 

reeled  from  the  tenderest  age  to  phenomena,  which 
occupy  the  senses  and  the  imagination  without  exciting 
thought;  and  above  all,  without  recalling  the  mind 
home  to  itself,  in  order  to  teach  it  self-knowledge,  self- 
direction,  and  self-possession — worth,  assuredly,  the 
knowledge  or  possession  of  everything  else.  Instruction 
is  materialized  to  the  utmost;  and  in  the  same  degree 
education  is  sensualized.  It  is  driven  headlong  into 
that  path  which  is  the  acknowledged  reproach  of  con- 
temporary art — ^not  nature  and  truth,  but  naturalism 
and  realism.  People  care  no  longer  for  any  but  posi- 
tive, or,  as  it  is  styled,  professional  instruction — ^that  is, 
such  as  may  directly  serve  to  earn  the  bread  of  this 
world.  Men  are  trained  for  the  one  end  of  turning 
this  earth  to  account,  and  securing  in  it  a  comfortable 
position.  It  is  forgotten  that  the  true  man,  like  thought, 
is  an  idea  even  more  than  a  body  or  a  letter,  and 
that  the  body  and  the  letter  have  no  value  except  from 
the  idea  which  animates  him,  and  which  he  should  ex- 
press. The  ideal  is  dreaded  now-a-days,  or  rather  it  is 
not  understood,  it  is  no  longer  appreciated,  because  our 
views  are  absorbed  by  the  real,  and  the  pleasures  of  the 
body  are  more  sought  after  than  those  of  the  mind. 

For  this  reason  the  natural  and  physical  sciences, 
which  make  matter  their  study,  with  mathematics  as 
their  handmaidens,  because  they  measure  the  finite,  are 
so  much  honored  in  our  day.  In  these  pursuits  every- 
thing is  positive — matter,  form,  letter,  number,  weight, 
and  measure;  and  as  the  end  of  these  studies  is  the 
amelioration,  or  at  least  the  embellishment  of  earthly 
life,  the  multitude  rushes  readily  in  this  direction,  and 
the  mind  becomes  the  servant,  or  rather  the  slave  of  the 
body. 

Every  science,  at  present,  which  is  not  directly  or  in- 


34  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

directly  subservient  to  some  material  want  or  enjoy- 
ment— that  is,  to  something  positive,  as  the  saying  is — 
falls  into  contempt  and  opprobrium,  or  is  at  least  aban- 
doned. Philosophy  furnishes  a  melancholy  example. 
True,  it  has  well  deserved  this  fate  by  its  excess  and  ex- 
travagance in  recent  times ;  and  the  same  will  invariably 
befall  it,  whenever  it  effects  independence,  and  refuses 
fealty  to  Divine  authority.  It  is  the  same  with  litera- 
ture, the  fine  arts,  and  whatever  promotes  the  civiliza- 
tion of  men  and  the  triumph  of  the  Divine  principle 
made  after  the  image  of  God,  over  the  brute  formed 
after  the  image  of  the  world.  All  these  noble  objects 
are  abandoned  as  useless,  or  of  little  importance  to  the 
wants  and  happiness  of  actual  society.  Religion  has 
alone  survived,  thanks  to  her  unchangeable  teaching  and 
her  Divine  origin,  which  place  her  above  human  in- 
stitutions and  the  vicissitudes  of  earth.  But  for  the 
Rock  of  the  Divine  Word,  but  for  the  Divine  founda- 
tion-stone, on  which  she  is  built,  she  also,  under  pretense 
of  rendering  her  more  useful  or  more  positive,  more 
suited  to  the  wants  and  lights  of  the  age,  would  have 
been  lowered  and  materialized,  then  the  last  link  which 
binds  humanity  to  heaven  would  have  been  broken,  and 
the  spiritual  man  would  have  been  wholly  interred  in 
the  slough  of  this  world,  buried  in  sensuality.  Let  but 
one  glance  be  given  at  what  has  been  the  fate  of  Re- 
ligion and  its  Divine  authoritj^  in  some  instances  and  a 
notion  will  be  gained  of  the  degradation  from  which  Re- 
ligion still  preserves  the  human  race.  She  is  the  last 
refuge  of  freedom  and  dignity  of  the  mind  against  ma- 
terial force.  Everywhere  else,  religious  instruction, 
without  faith  and  without  fixed  rule,  is  at  the  mercy  of 
human  science,   and  therefore  of  the  world's  power, 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  35 

which  makes  that  science  the  instrument  of  its  own  pre- 
dominance. 

I  crave  forgiveness  for  this  digression  which  has  es- 
caped from  a  heart  deeply  saddened  at  the  lowering  of 
our  system  of  studies  and  the  decline  of  our  education, 
which  will  lead  to  a  new  species  of  barbarism  in  this  age 
of  ours. 

I  return  to  my  subject,  that  is,  to  the  fund  which  he 
who  wishes  to  speak  in  public  should  form  within  him- 
self; and  I  say  to  the  young  who  may  read  me — if,  in- 
deed, they  will  read  me  at  all — I  say,  at  least  to  those 
who  may  feel  themselves  impelled  to  the  noble  exercise 
of  eloquence:  ''My  young  friends,  b^ore  speakin^g, 
endeavor  to  know  what  you  have  to  say,  and  for  this, 
study — study  well.  Obtain  by  perseverance  an  ac- 
quaintance first  with  all  that  relates  to  classical  learn- 
ing; and  then  let  each  labor  ardently  in  the  depart- 
ment to  which  his  vocation  urges  him.  Whatever  you 
study,  do  so  solidly  and  conscientiously.  Bend  your 
whole  mind  to  the  object  yon  seek  to  know,  and  let  it 
not  go  till  you  have  entered  into,  mastered,  and  grasped 
it,  so'as'to  comprehend  it,  to  conceive  it  within  your- 
selves, to  possess  the  full  idea  of  it,  and  to  be  able  to 
give  an  account  of  it  to  yourselves  and  others.  There 
is  but  one  time  for  acquirement,  the  time  of  youth. 
Bees  gather  in  the  flower  season  only;  they  afterwards 
live  upon  their  wax  and  honey.  In  youth  all  the  facul- 
ties are  wondrously  adapted  to  receive  and  retain,  and 
the  mind  eagerly  welcomes  what  comes  from  without. 
It  is  now  that  supplies  should  be  laid  in,  the  harvest 
gathered,  and  stored  in  the  garner.  Later  comes  the 
threshing  of  the  sheaves,  and  the  severing  of  the  grain 
from  the  straw — the  grinding,  the  formation  of  pure 


36  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

flour,  the  kneading  of  it,  and  the  making  of  bread. 
But  there  would  be  neither  bread,  nor  flour,  nor  grain, 
if  there  had  been  no  reaping — and  what  can  be  reaped 
if  the  seed  has  not  been  cast,  nor  the  ground  opened 
and  prepared?  Sow,  then,  the  field  of  your  mind  as 
much  as  possible,  till  it,  and  moisten  it  with  your  sweat, 
that  the  good  seed  may  bear  fruit,  and  use  the  sickle 
courageously  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  in  order  to  fill  the 
storehouse  of  your  understanding.  Then  when  you 
shall  have  to  feed  a  famishing  people  with  the  bread  of 
eloquence,  you  will  have  in  hand  rich  ears  to  beat,  and 
generous  grain  yielding  pure  substance;  from  this  sub- 
stance, kneaded  in  your  mind  with  a  little  leaven  from 
on  high,  imparting  to  it  a  divine  fermentation,  you 
may  form  intellectual  bread  full  of  flavor  and  solidity, 
which  wiU  give  your  audience  the  nourishment  of  mind 
and  soul,  even  as  bread  gives  aliment  to  the  body." 

2— TO  KNOW  HOW  TO  SPEAK,  YOU  MUST  FIRST  KNOW 
HOW  TO  THINK 

"We  now  come  to  the  acquired  qualities  properly  so 
called,  that  is,  to  the  art  of  thinking,  and  the  method 
of  expressing  what  is  thought  which  may  be  learnt  by 
study  and  formed  by  well-directed  practice. 

Although  we  think  by  nature,  yet  is  there  an  art  of 
thinking  which  teaches  us  to  do  with  greater  ease  and 
certainty  what  our  nature,  as  rational  beings,  leads 
us  to  do  spontaneously.  In  all  that  man  voluntarily 
does,  liberty  has  its  own  share;  and  liberty,  which  no- 
where exists  without  intelligence,  is  ever  the  source  of 
progress  and  perfection.  Man  learns  how  to  think  as 
he  learns  how  to  speak,  read,  write,  and  sing,  to  move 
his  body  gracefully,  and  to  use  all  the  powers  of  mind 
and  body. 


.^<l    ^  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MND  37 

>    (V 

i  Logic  teaches  the  art  of  thinking.     The  cu:ator  there- 

fore  must  be  a  good  logician ;  not  alone  theoretically, 
but  practically^  iFls  not  his  business  to  know  how  to 
.declaim  ahoiit  the  origin,  and -formation -of-ideas,  nor 
about  the  four  operations  of  thought.  It  is  not  the 
method  of  teaching,  butt'^he  use  of  logie-^whieh-ha-jre- 
quires — and  a  prompt^nd  dexterous  f amiliarityL^with 
it  he  will  not  acquire  except  by  long  and  repeated  exer- 
cises, under  the  guidance  of  an  experienced  thinker,  an 
artist  of  thought,  who  will  teach  him  how^to^do  with 
ease  what  he  knows  how  to  do  already  of  himself  im- 
perfectly. 

We,  in  this  point  of  view,  somewhat  regret  the  disuse 
of  the  old  syllogistic  method  of  the  schools;  for  we  are 
convinced  that,  properly  applied  and  seriously  directed, 
it  gives  quickness,  subtilty,  clearness,  and  something 
sure  and  firm  to  the  mind,  rarely  found  in  the  thinkers 
of  the  present  day.  The  fault  formerly,  perhaps,  was  in 
the  excessiveness  of  the  dialectical  turn,  and  frequently 
the  style  became  spoilt  by  dryness,  heaviness,  and  an 
appearance  of  pedantry.  Still,  men  knew  how  to  state 
a  question,  and  how  to  treat  it :  they  knew  at  which  end 
to  begin  it  in  order  to  develop  and  solve  it ;  and  the  line 
of  the  argument,  distinctly  marked  out,  led  straight  to 
the  object  and  to  a  conclusion.  The  fault  now-a-days 
is  in  an  absence  or  deficiency  of  method.  People  re- 
main a  long  time  before  their  subject  without  knowing 
how  to  begin  it,  even  though  they  rightly  understand 
its  very  terms.  This  superinduces  interminable  prepa- 
rations, desultory  introductions,  a  confused  exposition, 
a  disorderly  development,  and  finally  no  conclusion,  or 
at  least  nothing  decisive.  There  are  really  few  men  in 
our  day  who  know  how  to  think,  that  is,  how  to  lay 
down  and  develop  a  subject  in  such  a  way  as  to  instruct 


38  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

and  interest  those  who  read  them  or  listen  to  them. 
/  A  horror  is  everywhere  felt  for  rules  or  for  what  imposes 
y        j    constraint,  and,  as  nearly  all  the  barriers  have  been  re- 
)    moved  which  supported  and  protected  human  activity 
J     by  obliging  it  to  exert  itself  within  fixed  lines,  liberty, 
/     has  become  disorder,  men  swerve  from  the  track  in  order 
V__to  wal^'arfheir  ease ;  and,  far  from  gaining  by  it,  they 
lose  great  part  of  their  time  and  their  strength  in  seek- 
ing a  path  which  would  have  been  shown  them  from  the 
outset  had  they  chosen  to  accept  of  discipline,  and  to 
allow  themselves  to  be  guided.    In  order  to  think,  in 
their  own  fashion,  or  be  original,  they  think  at  random, 
just  as  ideas  happen  to  come,  if  any  come ;  and  the  up- 
shot, for  the  most  part,  is  vagueness,  oddity,  and  con- 
fusion.    This  is  the  era  of  the  vague  and  the  almost. 
Everybody  wants  to  speak  of  everything,  as  everybody 
wants  to  interfere  in  everything;  and  the  result  is  that 
amidst  this  flood  of  thoughts,  this  overflow  of  divergent 
or  irreconcilable  words  and  actions,  the  minds  of  men, 
tossed  to  and  fro,  float  uncertain,  without  a  notion  where 
they  are  going,  just  as  the  wind  blows  or  the  current 
drives. 

I  would  have,  then,  persons  who  are  intended  for 
public  speaking,  follow  a  course  of  logic,  rather  prac- 
tical than  theoretic,  in  which  the  mind  should  be  vigor- 
ously trained  to  the  division  and  combination  of  ideas 
upon  interesting  and  instructive  topics.  These  exer- 
cises should  be  written  or  oral.  Sometimes  it  should 
be  a  dissertation  on  a  point  of  literature,  morals,  or 
history;  and  a  habit  should  be  acquired  of  composing 
wjth-xjr-der^and  method,  bjr  pointing  out,  in  proportion 
as  the  student  proceeded,  the  several  parts  of  the  dis- 
course, the  steps  of  the  development,  and  means  of  proof 
— in  a  word,  whatever  serves  to  treat  a  subject  suitably. 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  39 

Sometimes  it  should  be  a  discussion  between  several  de- 
baters, with  the  whole  apparatus  and  strict  rules  of  a 
dialectic  argument,  under  the  master's  direction;  the 
disputants  should  not  be  allowed  to  proceed  or  conclude 
without  reducing  their  thoughts  to  the  forms  of  syl- 
logistic reasoning — a  process  which  entails  some  length- 
iness,  and  even  heaviness  upon  the  discourse,  but  it  gives 
greater  clearness,  order,  and  certainty.  At  other  times, 
the  debate  might  be  extemporaneous,  and  then,  in  the  un- 
foreseen character  of  the  discussion  and  in  all  the  sparks 
of  intelligence  which  it  strikes  forth,  will  be  seen  the 
minds  which  are  distinguished,  the  minds  that  know  how 
to  take  possession  of  an  idea  at  once,  enter  into  it,  divide, 
and  expound  it.  There  should,  for  every  position  or 
thesis,  be  the  counter-position  or  antithesis,  and  some  one 
to  maintain  it ;  for  in  every  subject  there  are  reasons  for 
and  against.  Thus  would  the  student  learn  to  look  at 
things  in  various  lights,  and  not  to  allow  himself  to  be 
absorbed  by  one  point  of  view,  or  by  a  preconceived  opin- 
ion. But  these  gymnastics  of  thinking  ought  to  be  led 
by  an  intelligent  master,  who  suffers  not  himself  to  be 
swayed  by  forms  or  enslaved  by  routine.  Real  thinking 
must  be  effected  under  all  these  forms  of  disputation  and 
argument,  but  the  letter  must  not  kill  the  spirit,  as  fre- 
quently was  the  case  in  the  schools  of  antiquity.  For 
then  it  would  no  longer  be  anything  but  an  affair  of 
memory,  and  the  life  of  intelligence  would  die  away.  I 
am  convinced — and  I  have  made  the  experiment  for  a 
length  of  years  in  the  Faculty  of  Strasbourg,  where  I 
had  established  those  exercises,  which  proved  exceedingly 
useful — I  am  convinced  that  young  men,  who  thus  occu- 
pied themselves  during  a  year  or  two  in  turning  over 
and  handling  a  variety  of  questions,  in  stirring  up  a 
multiplicity  of  ideas,  and  who  should,  with  a  view  to 


40  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

this,  write  and  speak  a  great  deal,  always  with  order, 
with  method,  and  under  good  guidance,  would  become 
able  thinkers;  and,  if  endowed  with  high  intelligence, 
would  become  men  mighty  in  word  or  in  deed,  or  in  both 
together,  according  to  their  capacity,  character  and  na- 
ture. 

3— THAT  GOOD  SPEAKING  MAY  BE  LEARNED,  AND  HOW 

However,  it  is  not  enough  to  think  methodically,  in 
order  to  speak  well,  although,  this  be  a  great  step  to- 
wards it ;  to  express  or  say  what  is  thought  is  also  neces- 
sary; in  other  words,  form  must  be  added  to  the  sub- 
stance. 
^-V-  y^Q  must  learn  then  how  to  speak  as  well  as  how  to 
\;hink  well. 

Here,  again,  practice  surpasses  theory,  and  daily  exer- 
cise is  worth  more  than  precepts.  Rhetoric  teaches  the 
art  of  language;  that  is,  of  speaking  or  writing  ele- 
gantly, while  grammar  shows  how  to  do  so  with  correct- 
ness. It  is  clear  that  before  anything  else,  the  rules  of 
language  must  be  known  and  observed;  but  correctness 
gives  neither  elegance  nor  grace,  which  are  the  most 
requisite  qualities  of  the  orator.  How  are  they  then  to  be 
acquired  ? 

^  In  the  first  place  there  is  what  cannot  be  acquired — a 
natural  fund,  which  nature  alone  can  give.  Women  are 
remarkable  for  it.  The  gracefulness  with  which  nature 
has  endowed  them,  diffuses  itself  generally  into  their 
language;  and  some  speak,  and  even  write,  admirably, 
without  any  study ;  under  the  sole  inspiration  of  feeling 
or  passion.  Credit,  indeed,  must  be  given  to  the  medium 
in  which  they  are  placed,  and  the  society  in  which  they 
live,  constituting  a  moral  atmosphere  in  which  their 
very  impressionable  and  open  minds — unless  willfully 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  41 

closed — absorb  all  influences  with  avidity,  and  receive 
a  kind  of  spontaneous  culture  and  education.  As  plants, 
which  bear  in  their  germs  the  hidden  treasures  of  the 
most  brilliant  and  odoriferous  flowers,  inhale  from  the 
ground  where  they  are  fixed,  and  the  air  which  encom- 
passes them,  the  coarsest  juices  and  the  subtilest  fluids, 
which  they  marvelously  transform  by  assimilation;  ,so 
these  delicate  souls  absorb  into  themselves  all  they  come 
in  contact  with,  all  that  impresses  or  nourishes  them ; 
which  they  manifest  by  a  soft  radiation,  by  a  graceful 
efflorescence  in  their  movements,  actions,  words,  and 
whatever  emanates  from  their  persons. 

Women  naturally  speak  better  than  men.  They  ex- 
press themselves  more  easily,  more  vividly;  with  more 
arch  simplicity,  because  they  feel  more  rapidly  and  more 
delicately.  Hence  the  loquacity  with  which  they  are  re- 
proached, and  which  is  an  effect  of  their  constitution  and 
temperament.  Hence  there  are  so  many  women  who 
write  in  an  admirable'and  remarkable  manner,  although 
they  have  studied  neither  rhetoric  nor  logic,  and  even 
without  knowing  grammar  or  orthography.  They  write 
as  they  speak ;  they  speak  pretty  much  as  the  birds  sing 
— and  their  language  has  the  same  charm,  ^jhto  Jhis 
the  sweetness  of  their  organ,  the  flexibility  of  their  voice, 
the  variety  of  their  intonations,  according  to  the  feeling 
which  animates  them ;  the  mobility  of  their  physiognomy, 
which  greatly  increases  the  effect  of  words,  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  their  gestures,  and  in  short  the  grace- 
fulness of  their  whole  exterior:  thus,  although  not  des- 
tined for  orators  by  their  sex  or  social  position,  they  have 
all  the  power  of  the  orator,  and  all  his  success,  in  their 
sphere,  and  in  the  circle  of  their  activity.  For  none  bet-  ( 
ter  know  how  to  touch,  persuade,  and  influence,  which,  I  " 
thmk,  is  the  end  and  the  perfection  of  eloquence. 


42  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

V-  t  Men,  then,  who  wish  to  acquire  the  art  of  speaking, 

must  learn  by  study  what  most  women  do  naturally ;  and 
in  this  respect  those  whose  temperament  most  approaches 
the  feminine,  in  greater  sensibility,  and  livelier  impres- 
sionableness,  will  have  less  difficulty  than  others,  and 
will  succeed  better. 

V  >J  However,  as  the  man  who  speaks  in  public  has  to  ex- 
press loftier  ideas,  general  notions,  and  deeper  or  more 
extensive  combinations,  which  imply  depth — penetration 
of  mind,  and  reflective  power — qualities  very  scarce 
among  women — ^he  will  never  be  able  to  expound  these 
subjects,  the  result  of  abstraction  and  meditation,  with 
grace  of  feeling  and  easiness  of  language  spontaneously, 
and  by  nature.  Here  art  must  supply  what  nature  re- 
fuses; by  diligent  labor,  by  exercises  multiplied  without 
end,  the  diction  must  be  rendered  pliable,  the  speech 
disciplined,  and  broken  in,  that  it  may  become  an  amen- 
able instrument  which,  obedient  to  the  least  touch  of  the 
will,  and  lightest  challenge  of  thought,  will  furnish  in- 
stantly a  copious  style,  seeming  to  flow  spontaneously, 
the  result  nevertheless  of  the  subtilest  art ;  like  fountains 
which,  with  great  cost  and  magnificence,  carry  the  waters 
of  our  rivers  into  our  squares,  yet  appear  to  pour  forth 
naturally.  Thus  the  words  of  the  orator,  by  dint  of  toil 
and  of  art,  and  this  even  on  the  most  abstract  subjects, 
ought  to  attain  a  limpid  and  an  easy  flow,  with  which  he 
hardly  troubles  himself,  but  to  which  his  attention  is  all 
the  time  directed,  in  order  to  bring  to  light  the  ideas  in 
his  mind,  the  images  in  his  fancy,  and  the  emotions  of 
his  heart. 

Such  is  the  talent  to  be  acquired!    Fit  fdbricando 

^  faber,  says  the  adage ;  and  it  is  the  same  with  the  jour- 

neyman of  words,  and  forger  of  eloquence.     The  iron 
must  be  often  beaten,  especially  while  it  is  hot,  to  give  it 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  43 

shape;  so  must  we  continually  hammer  language  to  be- 
come masters  of  it,  and  to  fashion  it,  if  we  would  be- 
come capable  of  speaking  in  public.  It  is  not  enough  to 
learn  the  rules  of  style,  the  tropes  and  figures  of  rhetoric ; 
the  use  and  proper  application  of  them  must  be  known ; 
and  this  cannot  be  learned  except  by  much  speaking  and 
much  writing  under  the  direction  of  an  able  master, 
who  knows  how  to  write  and  speak  himself;  for  in  this 
both  precept  and  example  are  necessary,  and  example  is 
better  than  precept. 

He  who  has  a  capacity  for  public  speaking  will  learn  it 
best  by  listening  to  those  who  know  how  to  speak  well, 
and  he  will  make  more  progress  by  striving  to  imitate 
them  than  by  all  their  instructions :  as  the  young  birds, 
on  their  first  attempts  to  quit  the  parent  nest,  try  at  first 
their  unskillful  flight  in  the  track  of  their  parents,  guided 
and  sustained  by  their  wings,  and  venture  not  except 
with  eyes  fixed  on  them,  so  a  youth,  who  is  learning  how 
to  become  a  writer,  follows  his  master  with  confidence 
while  imitating  him,  and  in  his  first  essays  cleaves 
timidly  at  his  heels,  daring  in  the  beginning  to  go  only 
where  he  is  led,  but  every  day  tries  to  proceed  a  little 
farther,  drawn  on,  and,  as  it  were,  carried  by  his  guide. 
It_is^  great  blessing  to  have  an  able  man  for  a  master. 
It  is  worth  more  than  all  books ;  for  it  is  a  living  book, 
v^  imparting  life  at  the  same  moment  as  instruction.  Jt  is 
one  torch  kindling  another.  Then  an  inestimable  advan- 
tage is  gained,  for,  to  the  authority  of  the  master,  which 
youth  is  always  more  or  less  prone  to  dispute,  is  added 
the  authority  of  talent  which  invariably  prevails.  He 
gladly  receives  the  advice  and  guidance  of  the  man 
whose  superiority  he  recognizes.  This  much  is  needed 
to  quell  the  pride  of  youth,  and  cast  down,  or  at  least 
abate,  its  presumption  and  self-confidence.    It  willingly 


44  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

listens  to  the  master  it  admires,  and  feels  happy  in  his 
society. 

I  had  this  happiness,  and  I  have  always  been  deeply 
grateful  to  the  Almighty  who  procured  it  for  me,  and 
to  the  illustrious  man  who  was  the  instrument  of  His 
beneficence.  For  nearly  four  years,  at  the  Lyceum  of 
Charlemagne  and  the  Ecole  Normale,  I  profited  daily 
by  the  lessons  and  example  of  Monsieur  Villemain,  then 
almost  as  young  as  his  pupils;  and,  if  I  know  any- 
thing of  the  art  of  speaking  and  writing,  I  say  it  before 
the  world,  to  him,  after  God,  I  owe  it. 

4— THAT  TO  SPEAK  WELL  IN  PUBLIC,  ONE  MUST  FIRST 
KNOW  HOW  TO  WRITE 

You  will  never  be  capable  of  speaking  properly  in 
public,  unless"you  acquire  such  mastery  of  yqur_pwn 
thought  as  to  be  able  to  decompose  it  into  its  parts,  to 
analyze  it  into  its  elements,  anti  then  at  need,  to  recom- 
pose,  regather,  and  concentrate  it  again  by  a  synthetical 
process.  Now  this  analysis  of  the  idea,  which  displays 
it,  as  it  were,  before  the  eyes  of  the  mind,  is  well  exe- 
cuted only  by  writing.  The  pen  is  the  scalpel  which  dis- 
sects the  thoughts,  and  never,  except  when  you  write 
down  what  you  behold  internally,  can  you  succeed  in 
clearly  discerning  all  that  is  contained  in  a  conception, 
or  in  obtaining  its  well-marked  scope.  You  then  under- 
stand yourself,  and  make  others  understand  you. 

You  should  therefore  begin  by  learning  to  write,  in 
order  to  give  yourself  a  right  account  of  your  own 
thoughts,  before  you  venture  yourself  to  speak.  They 
who  have  not  learned  this  first,  speak  in  general  badly 
and  with  difficulty;  unless,  indeed,  they  have  that  fatal 
facility,  a  thousand  times  worse  than  hesitation  or  than 
silence,  which  drowns  thought  in  floods  of  words,  or  in  a 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  45 

torrent  of  copiousness,  sweeping  away  good  earth,  and 
leaving  behind  sand  and  stones  alone.  Heaven  keep  us 
from  those  interminable  talkers,  such  as  are  often  to 
be  found  in  southern  countries,  who  deluge  you,  rela- 
tively to  anything  and  to  nothing,  with  a  shower  of  dis- 
sertation and  a  downpouring  of  their  eloquence!  Dur- 
ing nine-tenths  of  the  time  there  is  not  one  rational 
thought  in  the  whole  of  this  twaddle,  carrying  along  in 
its  course  every  kind  of  rubbish  and  platitude.  The 
class  of  persons  who  produce  a  speech  so  easily,  and  who 
are  ready  at  the  shortest  moment  to  extemporize  a  speech, 
a  dissertation,  or  a  homily,  know  not  how  to  compose  a 
tolerable  sentence;  and  I  repeat  that,  with  such  ex- 
ceptions as  defy  all  rule,  he  who  has  not  learnt  how  to 
write  will  never  know  how  to  speak. 

To  learn  to  write,  one  must  write  a  great  deal  in  imi- 
tation of  those  who  know  how,  and  under  their  guidance, 
just  as  one  learns  to  draw  or  paint  from  good  models, 
and  by  means  of  wise  instruction.  It  is  a  school  process, 
or  a  workshop  process,  if  the  phrase  be  preferred,  and 
to  a  great  extent  mechanical  and  literal,  but  indispen- 
sable to  the  student  of  letters.  Thus  the  musician  must 
tutor  his  fingers  to  pliancy,  in  order  to  execute  easily 
and  instantaneously  all  the  movements  necessary  for  the 
quick  production  of  sounds,  depending  on  the  structure 
of  his  instrument.  Thus,  likewise,  the  singer  must  be- 
come master  of  all  the  movements  of  his  throat,  and  must 
long  and  unremittingly  practice  vocal  exercises,  until 
the  will  experiences  no  difficulty  in  determining  those 
contractions  and  expansions  of  the  windpipe  which 
modify  and  inflect  the  voice  in  every  degree  and  frac- 
tion of  its  scale. 

In  the  same  manner,  the  future  orator  must,  by  long 
study   and  repeated  compositions  of  a  finished   kind, 


46  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

handle  and  turn  all  expressions  of  lan^age,  various  con- 
structions of  sentences,  and  endless  combination^  o\f 
words,  until  they  have  become  supple  and  well-trained 
instruments  of  the  mind,  giving  him  no  longer  any 
trouble  while  actually  speaking,  and  accommodating 
themselves  unresistingly  to  the  slightest  guidance  of  his 
thought. 

"With  inverted  languages,  in  which  the  sentence  may 
assume  several  arrangements,  this  is  more  easy,  for  you 
have  more  than  one  way  to  express  the  same  thought; 
and  thus  there  are  more  chances  of  expressing  yourself, 
if  not  better,  at  least  more  conveniently.  But  in  our 
language,^  whose  principal  merit  is  clearness,  and  whose 
path  is  always  the  straightest,  that  is,  the  most  logical 
possible — a  quality  which  constitutes  its  value,  for,  after 
all,  speech  is  made  to  convey  our  thoughts — it  is  more 
difficult  to  speak  well,  and  especially  to  extemporize,  be- 
cause there  is  but  one  manner  of  constructing  the  sen- 
tence, and  if  you  have  the  misfortune  of  missing,  at  the 
outset,  this  direct  and  single  way,  you  are  involved  in  a 
by-path  without  any  outlets,  and  can  emerge  from  it 
only  by  breaking  through  the  enclosures  or  escaping 
across  country.  You  are  then  astray,  or  lost  in  a  quick- 
sand— a  painful  result  for  all  concerned,  both  for  him 
who  speaks,  and  for  those  who  listen. 

It  is  therefore  indispensable  to  acquire  the  perfect 
mastery  of  your  instrument,  if  you  wish  so  to  play  upon 
it  in  public  as  to  give  pleasure  to  others,  and  avoid  bring- 
ing confusion  upon  yourself.  As  the  violinist  commands 
with  the  touch  every  part  of  the  string,  and  his  fingers 
alight  on  the  exact  point  in  order  to  produce  the  re- 

1  The  English  language  holds,  in  this  respect,  a  middle  place 
between  the  French  and  the  two  great  all-capable  tongues  of 
classic  antiquity. 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  47 

quired  sound,  so  the  mind  of  the  orator  ought  to  alight 
precisely  on  the  right  word,  corresponding  to  each  part 
of  the  thought,  and  to  seize  on  the  most  suitable  ar- 
rangement of  words,  in  order  to  exhibit  the  development 
of  its  parts  with  due  regard  to  each  sentence  as  well  as  to 
the  whole  discourse.  An  admirable  and  prodigious  task 
in  the  quickness  and  certitude  of  the  discernment  is  exe- 
cuted at  the  moment  of  extemporizing,  and  in  the  taste 
and  the  tact  which  it  implies.  And  here  especially  are 
manifested  the  truth  and  use  of  our  old  literary  studies 
and  of  the  method  which,  up  to  our  own  day,  has  been 
constantly  employed,  but  now  apparently  despised,  or 
neglected,  to  the  great  injury  of  logic  and  eloquence. 

The  end  of  that  method  is  to  stimulate  and  bring  out 
the  intelligence  of  youth  by  the  incessant  decomposi- 
tion and  recomposition  of  speech — in  other  words,  by 
the  continual  exercise  of  both  analysis  and  synthesis; 
and  that  the  exercise  in  question  may  be  the  more  closely 
reasoned  and  more  profitable,  it  is  based  simultaneously 
on  two  languages  studied  together,  the  one  ancient  and 
dead,  and  not  therefore  to  be  learnt  by  rote,  the  other 
living  and  as  an  analogous  as  possible  to  the  first.  The 
student  is  then  made  to  account  to  himself  for  all  the 
words  of  both,  and  for  their  bearings  in  particular  sen- 
tences, in  order  to  establish  the  closest  parallel  between 
them,  the  most  exact  equiponderance,  and  so  to  repro- 
duce with  all  attainable  fidelity  the  idea  of  one  language 
in  the  other.  Hence  what  are  termed  themes  and  ver- 
sions— the  despair  of  idle  school-boys,  indeed,  but  very 
serviceable  in  forming  and  perfecting  the  natural  logic 
of  the  mind,  which,  if  carefully  pursued  for  several  years 
is  the  best  way  of  teaching  the  unpracticed  and  tender 
reason  of  youth  all  the  operations  of  thought — a  faculty 
which,  after  all,  keeps  pace  with  words,  and  can  work 


J 


48  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

and  manifest  itself  only  by  means  of  the  signs  of  lan- 
guage. 

The  superficial  or  positive  philosopher  imagines  that 
the  object  of  this  protracted  trial,  which  occupies  the 
finest  years  of  youth,  is  to  learn  Latin  or  Greek,  and 
then  exclaims  that  the  result  is  not  worth  either  the 
trouble  or  the  time  which  it  costs,  and  that,  comparing 
one  language  with  another,  it  would  be  more  profitable 
to  teach  children  modern  and  spoken  tongues  which 
might  hereafter  be  of  use  to  them  in  life.  Such  persons 
would  be  quite  right  if  this  were  the  only  end  in  view; 
for  doubtless,  French  or  German  would  be  more  service- 
able for  travel,  trade,  or  anything  of  that  nature. 

But  there  is  another  object  which  these  persons  do  not 
see,  although  it  is  the  main  object:  which  is  to  teach 
thinking  to  individuals  who  are  destined  to  work  in 
social  life  by  their  thought — ^to  fashion  laborers  of  the 
mind  to  the  functions  of  intelligence,  as  an  apprentice  or 
handicraftsman  is  fashioned  to  material  functions  and 
bodily  toil.  As  these  last  are  taught  to  use  their  tools, 
and  therefore  to  know  them  thoroughly  and  handle  them 
skillfully,  in  like  manner  the  former  must  also  learn  per- 
fectly the  implements  of  their  calling,  and  tools  of  their 
craft,  in  order  to  use  them  ably  on  all  possible  occasions. 
Now  the  necessary  instrument — ^thought's  indispensable 
tool^ — is  language;  and  therefore,  although  people  speak 
naturally  and  almost  without  any  teaching,  merely 
through  living  together,  yet  if  a  person  wish  to  become 
an  able  workman  of  speech,  and  consequently  of  thought, 
as  if  he  sought  to  be  an  able  locksmith  or  a  skillful  mason, 
he  must  get  instruction  in  the  processes  of  art,  and  be 
initiated  in  the  rules  and  methods  which  make  it  easier 
and  more  efficient. 

This  is  obtained  by  the  study  of  languages  which  is 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  49 

the  object  of  classical  pursuits.  From  the  elementary 
class  to  the  ''humanities/'  it  is  one  course  of  logic  by 
means  of  comparative  grammar — and  it  is  the  only  logic 
of  which  youth  is  capable.  It  is  the  easiest  training  of 
thought  by  and  through  words,  its  material  signs.  A 
youth  is  thus  taught  for  several  years  to  learn  the  con- 
nections of  ideas  by  the  relations  of  words,  which  he  is 
continually  fashioning  and  re-fashioning;  and  while 
learning  to  form  sentences,  ever  with  a  thought  in  view, 
the  details  of  which  he  must  explain  and  convey,  he  be- 
comes used  to  analysis  and  combination,  and  executes,  in 
the  humble  functions  of  grammar,  a  prelude  to  the  high- 
est operations  of  science,  which,  after  all,  are  but  the  de- 
composition and  marshaling  of  ideas. 

Who  does  not  at  once  see  what  facility  the  mind  ac- 
quires by  this  perpetual  comparison  of  the  terms  and 
idioms  of  two  languages,  which  must  be  made  to  fit  each 
other,  and  to  what  a  degree  thought  becomes  refined  and 
subtile,  in  the  presence  of  some  idea  which  has  to  be  ex- 
pressed? The  phrases  of  two  languages  are  measured 
and  weighed  incessantly;  they  are  compared,  each  with 
each,  and  each  with  the  idea,  to  ascertain  which  will  ren- 
der it  best. 

The  efforts  are  not  useless  which  are  made  by  these 
youthful  minds  who  thus,  day  after  day,  wrestle  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  most  illustrious  writers  of  antiquity,  in 
order  to  understand  and  translate  them.  How  great  a 
privilege  to  commune  daily  with  the  exalted  reason,  the 
noble  ideas,  and  the  splendid  diction  of  those  great  and 
noble  minds!  How  great  the  advantage  derived  from 
such  an  intercourse,  and  how  great  the  intellectual  gain 
in  such  a  company,  and  daily  familiarity !  Then  what  a 
pleasure  to  have  found  an  equivalent  term,  and  to  have 
transferred  into   one's   own  language,   with  the   same 


50  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

vigor  or  the  same  delicacy,  what  some  famous  author 
has  said  in  his!  What  profit  in  this  concussion  of 
idioms,  from  which  the  spark  of  ideas  is  so  often  stricken 
forth — this  strife,  unequal  indeed,  yet  replete  with  a 
noble  emulation,  between  a  youth,  trying  the  nascent 
strength  of  his  thoughts,  and  some  master  mind  whose 
works  enlighten  and  guide  humanity !  And  finally,  what 
more  particularly  concerns  our  subject,  what  facility  of 
expression,  what  aptitude  for  extemporaneous  speaking, 
must  not  accrue  from  this  habit,  contracted  from  child- 
hood, of  handling  and  turning  a  sentence  in  every  direc- 
tion, until  the  most  perfect  form  be  found,  of  combin- 
ing its  terms  in  all  ways,  in  order  to  arrive  at  the  ar- 
rangement best  fitted  for  the  manifestation  of  the 
thought,  of  polishing  each  member  of  it  by  effacing  as- 
perities and  smoothing  crevices,  of  balancing  one  sen- 
tence against  another,  in  order  to  give  the  whole  oneness, 
measure,  harmony,  and  a  sort  of  music,  rendering  it  as 
agreeable  to  the  ear  when  spoken  as  it  is  luminous  to  the 
mind  by  which  it  is  meditated. 

No;  in  no  other  way  can  the  artist  of  words  be  ever 
formed;  and  if  a  different  method  be  attempted,  as  is 
somewhat  signified  at  present,  you  will  have,  not  artists, 
but  handicraftsmen.  Means  should  always  be  propor- 
tioned to  ends.  If  you  want  orators,  you  must  teach 
them  how  to  speak,  and  you  will  not  teach  them  other- 
wise than  they  have  been  taught  heretofore.  All  our 
(French)  great  orators  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  have  been  formed  in  this  manner,  and  I  am 
not  aware  that  there  have  ever  been  greater  writers  in 
the  world,  or  that  the  glory  of  France  in  this  particular 
has  been  excelled.  Let  this  splendor  of  civilization,  this 
blooming  forth  of  the  mind  in  poetry,  literature,  and  elo- 
quence, which  have  always  been  the  brightest  crown  and 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  51 

most  beautiful  garland  of  humanity  on  earth,  be  once 
abandoned,  in  favor  of  conquest,  and  of  the  riches  pro- 
duced by  industry  and  commerce — which  are  much  to  be 
admired,  no  doubt,  but,  after  all,  minister  more  to  body 
than  to  soul — be  it  so;  we  shall  perhaps  become  more 
learned  in  material  things,  and  certainly  more  wealthy; 
we  shall  have  more  ways  of  winning  money  and  of 
losing  it,  more  ways  of  enjoying  earthly  life,  and  there- 
fore of  wearing  out,  and  perchance  of  degrading  it :  but 
shall  we  be  the  happier  ?  This  is  not  certain.  Shall  we 
be  the  better? — less  certain  still;  but  what  is  certain  is, 
that  the  life  of  human  society  or  civilization,  however 
gilt,  will  be  less  beautiful,  less  noble,  and  less  glorious. 

There  is  another  practice  which  strikingly  conduces  to- 
wards facilitating  expression  and  towards  perfecting 
its  form;  we  mean  the  learning  by  heart  of  the  finest 
passages  in  great  writers,  and  especially  in  the  most 
musical  poets,  so  as  to  be  able  to  recite  them  at  a  single 
effort,  at  moments  of  leisure,  during  a  solitary  walk  for 
instance,  when  the  mind  so  readily  wanders.  This  prac- 
tice, adopted  in  all  schools,  is  particularly  advantageous 
in  rhetoric,  and  during  the  bright  years  of  youth.  At 
that  age  it  is  easy  and  agreeable,  and  he  who  aspires  to 
the  art  of  speaking  ought  never  to  neglect  it.  Besides 
furnishing  the  mind  with  all  manner  of  fine  thoughts, 
well  expressed  and  w^ell  linked  together,  and  thus  nour- 
ishing, developing,  and  enriching  it,  it  has  the  additional 
advantage  of  filUng  the  understanding  with  graceful 
images,  of  forming  the  ear  to  the  rhythm  and  number  of 
the  period,  and  of  obtaining  a  sense  of  the  harmony  of 
speech,  which  is  not  without  its  own  kind  of  music ;  for 
ideas,  and  even  such  as  are  the  most  abstract,  enter  the 
mind  more  readily,  and  sink  into  it  more  deeply,  when 
presented  in  a  pleasing  fashion.    By  dint  of  reading  the 


52  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND 

beautiful  lines  of  Corneille  and  Racine,  Bossuet's  ma- 
jestic and  pregnant  sentences,  the  harmonious  and 
cadenced  compositions  of  Fenelon  and  Massillon,  one 
gradually  and  without  effort  acquires  a  language  ap- 
proaching theirs,  and  imitates  them  instinctively  through 
the  natural  attraction  of  the  beautiful,  and  the  pro- 
pensity to  reproduce  whatever  pleases;  and  at  last,  by 
repeating  this  exercise  daily  for  years,  one  attains  a  re- 
fined taste  of  the  delicacies  of  language  and  the  shades  of 
style,  just  as  a  palate  accustomed  to  the  flavor  of  the 
most  exquisite  viands  can  no  longer  endure  the  coarser. 
But  what  is  only  a  disadvantage  in  bodily  taste,  at  least 
under  certain  circumstances,  is  always  beneficial  to  the 
literary  taste,  which  should  seek  its  nutriment,  like  the 
bee,  in  the  most  aromatic  portions  of  the  flower,  in  order 
to  combine  them  into  delicious  and  perfumed  honey. 

By  this  process  is  prepared,  moreover,  in  the  imagin- 
ative part  of  the  understanding,  a  sort  of  capacity  for 
the  oratorical  form,  for  the  shaping  of  sentences,  which  I 
cannot  liken  to  anything  better  than  to  a  mold  care- 
fully prepared,  and  traced  with  delicate  lines  and  varied 
patterns,  into  which  the  stream  of  thought,  flowing  full 
of  life  and  ardor  from  a  glowing  mind  in  the  fire 
of  declamation  or  composition,  becomes  fixed  even  while 
it  is  being  cast,  as  metal  in  a  state  of  fusion  becomes  in- 
stantaneously a  beautiful  statue.  Thus  the  oratorical 
diction  should  be  cast,  all  of  one  piece,  by  a  single  throw 
in  order  to  exhibit  a  beautiful  and  a  living  unity.  But 
for  this  a  beautiful  mold  is  indispensable,  and  the  young 
orator,  who  must  have  further  received  from  nature  the 
artistic  power,  cannot  form  within  him  that  mold  save 
with  the  assistance  of  the  great  masters  and  by  imitating 
them.  GenijuLs  alone  is  an  exception  to  this  rule,  and 
genius  is  rare. 


ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  OF  MIND  53 

The  best  rhetorical  professors,  those  who  are  veritably 
artists  of  speech,  and  seek  to  fashion  others  to  their  own 
likeness,  recommend  and  adopt  this  exercise  largely;  it 
is  irksome  to  the  indolent,  but  it  amply  indemnifies  the 
toil  which  it  exacts  by  the  fruits  which  it  brings.  There 
is,  besides,  a  way  of  alleviating  the  trouble  of  it,  and  that 
is,  to  read  and  learn  select  pages  of  our  great  authors, 
while  strolling  under  the  shades  of  a  garden  or  through 
some  rich  country,  when  nature  is  in  all  her  brilliancy. 
You  may  then  recite  them  aloud  in  such  beautiful 
scenery,  the  impressions  of  which  deliciously  blend  with 
those  of  eloquence  and  song.  Every  young  man  of  any 
talent  or  literary  taste  has  made  the  experiment.  Dur- 
ing the  spring  time  of  life,  there  is  a  singular  charm  for 
us  in  the  spring  time  of  nature ;  and  the  redundance  of 
fresh  life  in  a  youthful  soul  trying  its  own  powers  in 
thought,  in  painting,  or  in  poesy,  is  marvelously  and  in- 
stinctively wooed  into  sympathy  with  that  glorious  life 
of  the  world  around,  whose  fertilizing  virtue  evokes  his 
genius,  while  it  enchants  his  senses  by  the  subtilest  emo- 
tions, and  enriches  his  imagination  with  varied  pictures 
and  brilliant  hues. 

Moreover — and  this  is  a  privilege  of  youth,  which  has 
its  advantages  as  well  as  its  inconveniences — poetry  and 
eloquence  are  never  better  relished,  that  is,  never  with 
greater  delight  and  love,  than  at  this  age,  in  the  dawn 
of  the  soul's  life,  amidst  the  first  fruits  of  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  heart's  innocence,  in  the  opening  splendors 
of  the  ideal,  which  seems  to  the  understanding  as  a  rising 
sun,  tinging  and  illumining  all  things  with  its  radiant 
fires.  The  beauty  that  is  understood  and  that  which  is 
merely  sensible  wondrously  harmonize;  they  give  each 
other  enchantment  and  relief;  or,  to  speak  more  truly, 
material  beauty  is  appreciated  only  through  the  reflected 


54  ACQUIRED  QUALITIEH  OF  MIND 

light  of  mental  beauty,  and  as  the  rays  emitted  by  an 
idea  illuminate  and  transfigure  nature  ^s  forms  and  na- 
ture's life — so  nature,  on  the  other  hand,  while  it  lov- 
ingly receives  the  luster  of  some  heavenly  thought,  re- 
fracts it  gloriously  in  its  prisms,  and  multiplies,  while  re- 
flecting its  beams. 

All  this  the  youthful  orator,  or  he  who  has  the  power 
to  become  one,  will  feel  and  experience,  each  person 
according  to  his  nature  and  his  character,  as  he  awakens 
the  echoes  of  some  beautiful  scene  with  the  finest  accents 
of  human  eloquence  or  poetry.  While  impressing  these 
more  deeply  in  his  memory,  by  help  of  the  spots  wherein 
he  learns  them,  which  will  add  to  and  thereafter  facili- 
tate his  recollections,  he  will  imbibe  unconsciously  a  two- 
fold life,  the  purest  and  sublimest  life  of  humanity,  and 
that  great  life  of  nature  which  is  the  thought  of  the  Al- 
mighty diffused  throughout  creation.  These  two  great 
lives,  that  of  man  and  that  of  nature,  which  spring  from 
the  same  source,  and  thither  return,  blended  without 
being  confounded  within  him,  animating  and  nourishing 
his  own  life,  the  life  of  his  mind  and  of  his  soul,  will  yet 
draw  forth  from  his  bosom,  from  his  poet's  or  orator's 
heart,  a  stream  of  eloquence  or  of  song  which  will  run  an 
imperishable  course. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PHYSICAL    QUALITIES    OF    THE    ORATOR,    NATURAL   AND 
ACQUIRED 

It  is  not  enough  for  the  orator  to  have  ideas  and  to 
know  how  to  express  them,  imparting  the  most  graceful 
turn  to  his  diction,  and  pouring  forth  copious  words  into 
the  form  of  a  musical  and  sonorous  period;  he  must  fur- 
ther know  how  to  articulate  his  speech,  how  to  pronounce 
and  deliver  his  discourse.  He  mujt  have  propriety  of 
.voice  and  gesture,  or  the_orato]dcaL^ction — a  thing  of  im- 
mense importance  to  the  success  of  eloquence,  in  which 
nature,  as  in  everything,  has  a  considerable  share,  ^ut 
art  may  play  a  great  part.  Here,  then,  also  is  to  be  de- 
veloped a  natural  predisposition,  and  a  certain  skill  is  to 
be  acquired. 

1— THE  VOICE 

The  voice,  including  all  the  organs  which  serve  to  pro- 
duce or  modify  it,  is  the  speaker 's  chief  instrument ;  and 
its  quality  essentially  depends,  in  the  first  instance,  upon 
the  formation  of  the  chest,  the  throat,  and  mouth.  Art 
can  do  little  to  ameliorate  this  formation,  but  it  can  do 
much  to  facilitate  and  strengthen  the  organic  movements 
in  all  that  regards  breathing,  the  emission  of  sound,  and 
pronunciation.  These  matters  ought  to  be  the  object  of  a 
special  duty. 

It  is  very  important,  in  speaking  as  in  sjnging,  to 
know  how  t-e-  «errd:forth  and  how  to  husband  the  breath. 


56         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

so  as  to  spin  lengthened  sounds  and  deliver  a  complete 
period,  without  being  blown,  and  without  breaking  a 
sentence  already  begun,  or  a  rush  of  declamation  by  a 
gasp — needful,  indeed,  for  lungs  that  have  failed,  but 
making  a  sort  of  disagreeable  gap  or  stoppage. 

Care  should  also  be  taken  not  to  speakjtoo  fast,  too 
/<^I,oud,  or  with  too  much  animation  at  the  outset]"' for  if 
you  force  your  voice  in  the  beginning  you  are  presently' 
out  of  breath,  or  your  voice  is  cracked  or  hoarse,  and 
then  you  can  no  longer  proceed  without  repeated  efforts 
which  fatigue  the  hearers  and  exhaust  the  speaker.  All 
these  precautions,  which  appear  trivial,  but  which  are 
really  of  high  importance,  are  learned  by  labor,  prac- 
tice, and- ^personal  experience.  Still  it  is  a  very  good 
"^ing  to  be  warned  and  guided  by  the  experience  of 
others,  and  this  may  be  ensured  advantageously  by  fre- 
quent recitations  aloud  under  the  direction  of  some 
master  of  elocution. 

Enough  stress  is  not  laid  on  these  things,  if,  indeed, 
they  are  attended  to  at  all,  in  the  schools  of  rhetoric,  in 
literary  establishments,  and  in  seminaries — ^wherein  ora- 
tors, nevertheless,  are  expected  to  be  formed.  Scarce  any 
but  actors  now-a-days  trouble  themselves  about  them, 
and  that  is  the  reason  we  have  so  few  men  in  the  liberal 
professions  who  know  how  to  speak,  or  even  to  read  or 
recite  a  discourse  rightly. 

On  this  point  the  ancients  had  a  great  advantage 
over  us ;  they  attached  far  more  importance  than  we  do 
^  to  oratorical  action,  as  we  see  in  the  treatises  of  Cicero 
and  Quintilian.  It  was  with  them  one  half  of  eloquence 
at  the  least ;  and  it  is  said  that  Demosthenes  made  it  the 
orator's  chief  quality.  They,  perhaps,  went  too  far  in 
this  respect;  and  it  came,  doubtless,  of  their  having  to 
speak  before  the  multitude,  whose  senses  must  be  struck. 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  57 

whose  passions  must  be  excited,  and  on  whom  power  and 
brilliancy  of  voice  have  immense  effect.     As  for  us,  we 


fall  into  the  contrary  extreme,  and  frequently  our~or~ 
ators,  even  those  most  distinguished  in  point  of  style,  do 
not  know  how  to  speak  their  speeches.  We  are  so  unused^ 
to  beauty  of  form  and  nobility  of  air,  that  we  are  amazed 
when  we  meet  them.  There  is  a  certain  orator  of  our 
day  who  owes  his  success  and  reputation  merely  to  these 
advantages.  On  the  other  hand,  these  alone  are  too  lit- 
tle ;  we  miss  much  when  a  fine  elocution  and  an  elegant 
or  splendid  delivery  carry  off  commonplace  thoughts 
and  expressions,  more  full  of  sound  than  of  sense. 
This  is  quickly  perceived  in  the  perusal  of  those 
harangues  which  produced  so  great  an  effect  when  de- 
livered, and  in  which  scarcely  any  of  the  emotions  expe- 
rienced in  listening  to  them  is  recovered  after  they  have 
once  been  fixed  warm,  as  it  were,  on  paper  by  the  re- 
porter's art.  The  spell  of  the  oratorical  action  is  gone 
from  them. 

The  modulation  of  the  voice  proceeds  principally  from 
the  larynx,  which  produces  and  modifies  it,  almost  with- 
out limit,  by  expansion  and  contraction.  First,  then, 
we  have  the  formation  of  the  larynx,  with  its  muscles, 
cartilages,  membranes,  and  tracery,  which  are  to  the 
emission  of  vocal  sound  what  the  involutions  of  the  brain 
probably  are,  instrument  ally,  in  the  operations  of 
thought.  But,  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other,  the  con- 
nection of  the  organs  with  the  effects  produced  entirely 
escapes  us ;  and  although  we  are  continually  availing  our- 
selves of  the  instrument,  we  do  not  perceive  in  any  man- 
ner the  how  of  its  ministrations.  It  is  only  by  use,  and 
experiments  often  repeated,  that  we  learn  to  employ  them 
with  greater  ease  and  power,  and  our  skill  in  this  respect 
is   wholly   empirical.     The  researches   of  the   subtilest 


) 


58         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

anatomy  have  given  us  no  discovery  in  the  matter.  All 
that  we  have  ascertained  is,  that  every  voice  has  its  nat- 
ural bell-tone,  which  makes  it  a  bass  yoice^^  a-  tenor,  or-  a 
soprano,  each  with  intermediate  gradations.  The  middle 
vbice,'^r  tenor,  is  the  most  favorable  for  speaking;  it  is 
that  which  maintains  itself  the  best,  and  which  reaches 
the  farthest  when  well  articulated.  It  is  also  the  most 
pleasing,  the  most  endearing,  and  has  the  largest  re- 
sources for  inflection,  because,  being  in  the  middle  of  the 
scale,  it  rises  or  sinks  with  greater  ease,  and  leans  itself 
better  to  either  hand.  It  therefore  commands  a  greater 
variety  of  intonations,  which  hinders  monotony  of  elocu- 
tion, and  reawakens  the  attention  of  the  hearer,  so  prone 
to  doze. 

The  upper  voice,  exceedingly  clear  at  first,  is  continu- 
ally tending  towards  a  scream.  It  harshens  as  it  pro- 
ceeds, and  at  last  becomes  falsetto  and  nasal.  It  re- 
quires great  talent,  great  liveliness  of  thought,  language, 
and  elocution  to  compensate  or  redeem  this  blemish. 
One  of  the  most  distinguished  orators  of  our  time  is  an 
example  in  point,  jle^used  to  succeed  in  obtaining  a 
hearing  for  several  hours  together,  in  spite  of  his  lank 
and  creaking  voice — a  real  victory  of  mind  over  matter. 

A  bass  voice  is  with  difficulty  pitched  high,  and  con- 
tinually tends  back.  Grave  and  majestic  at  the  outset, 
it  soon  grows  heavy  and  monotonous ;  it  has  magnificent 
chords,  but,  if  long  listened  to,  produces  frequently  the 
effect  of  a  drone,  and  soon  tires  and  lulls  to  sleep  by  the 
medley  of  commingling  sounds.  What,  then,  if  it  be 
coarse,  violent,  uttered  with  bursts?  Why,  it  crushes 
the  ear,  if  it  thunders  in  too  confined  an  apartment ;  and 
if  it  breaks  forth  amidst  some  vast  nave,  where  echoes  al- 
most always  exist,  the  billows  of  sound  reverberating 
from  every  side  blend  together,  should  the  orator  be 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  59 

speaking  fast,  and  the  result  is  a  deafening  confusion, 
and  a  sort  of  acoustic  chaos. 

It  is  an  advantage,  then,  to  a  speaker  to  have  a  middle 
voice,  since  he  has  the  greater  play  for  expression  in  its 
more  numerous  inflections.  It  is  easy  to  understand 
how,  hy  constant  practice,  by  frequent  and  intelligent 
recitations  under  able  guidance,  a  person  may  become 
master  of  these  inflections,  may  produce  them  at  will, 
and  raise  and  lower  his  voice  in  speaking  as  in  singing, 
either  gradually  or  abruptly,  from  tone  to  tone,  up  to 
the  very  highest,  according  to  the  feeling,  the  thought,  or 
the  emotions  of  the  mind.  Eletween  4he  acts  of  the 
mental  life  and  those  of  the  organs  which  are  subservient 
to  them  there  is  a  natural  correspondence  and  an  inborn 
analogy,  by  virtue  of  the  human  constitution,  which  con- 
sists of  a  soul  in  union  with  a  body ;  and,  for  this  reason, 
all  the  impressions,  agitations,  shudderings,  and  throb- 
bings  of  the  heart,  when  it  is  stirred  by  the  affections  and 
the  passions,  no  less  than  the  subtilest  acts,  the  nimblest 
operations  of  the  intelligence — in  a  word,  all  the  modi- 
fications of  the  moral  life  should  find  a  tone,  an  accent 
in  the  voice,  as  well  as  a  sign  in  language,  an  accord,  a 
parallel,  in  the  physical  life,  and  in  its  means  of  expres- 
sion. 

In  all  eases,  whatever  be  the  tone  of  the  voice,  bass, 
tenor,  or  soprano — what  most  wins  upon  the  hearers, 
what  best  seizes  and  most  easily  retains  their  attention, 
is  what  may  be  called  a  sympathetic  voice.  It  is  difficult 
enough  to  say  in  what  it  consists ;  but  what  very  clearly 
characterizes  it  is  the  gift  of  causing  itself  to  be  attended 
to.  It  is  a  certain  power  of  attraction  which  draws  iQ.it 
the  hearer's  mind,  and  on  its  accents  hangs  his  attention. 
It  is  a  secret  virtue  which  is  in  speech,  and  which  pene- 
trates at  once,  or  little  by  little,  through  the  ear  to  the 


60         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

mind  or  into  the  heart  of  those  who  listen,  charms  them, 
and  holds  them  beneath  the  charm  to  such  a  degree  that 
they  are  disposed,  not  only  to  listen,  but  even  to  admit 
what  is  said,  and  to  receive  it  with  confidence.  It  is  a 
voice  which  inspires  an  affection  for  him  who  speaks, 
and  puts  you  instinctively  on  his  side,  so  that  his  wOYtis 
find  an"  echo  in  the  mind,  repeating  there  what  he  says, 
and  reproducing  it  easily  in  the  understanding  and  the 
heart. 

A  sympathetic  voice  singularly  helps  the  effect  of  the 
^  discourse,  and  is,  besides,  the  best,  the  most  insinuating 

oF  exordiums  (introductions).  I  know  an  orator  who 
has,  among  other  qualities,  this  in  his  favor,  and  who, 
every  time  he  mounts  the  pulpit,  produces  invariably  a 
profound  sensation  by  his  apostolic  countenance,  and  by 
the  very  first  sounds  of  his  voice. 

Whence  comes,  above  all  others,  this  quality  which  can 
hardly  be  acquired  by  art?  First,  certainly  from  the 
natural  constitution  of  the  vocal  organ,  as  in  singing; 
but,  next  to  this,  the  soul  may  contribute  much  towards 
it  by  the  feelings  and  thoughts  which  actuate  it,  and  by 
the  efforts  which  it  makes  to  express  what  is  felt,  and  to 
convey  it  to  others.  There  is  something  sympathetic  in 
the  lively  and  sincere  manifestation  of  any  affection ;  and 
when  the  hearer  sees  that  the  speaker  is  really  moved, 
the  motion  gains  him  by  a  sort  of  contagion,  and  he  be- 
gins to  feel  with  him  and  like  him,  as  two  chords  vi- 
brating in  unison.  Or,  again,  if  a  truth  be  unfolded  to 
him  with  clearness,  in  good  order,  and  fervently,  and  if 
the  speaker  shows  that  he  understands  or  feels  what  he 
says,  the  hearer,  all  at  once  enlightened  and  sharing  in 
the  same  light,  acquiesces  willingly,  and  receives  the 
words  addressed  to  him  with  pleasure.  In  such  cases 
the  power  of  conviction  animates,  enlivens,  and  transfig- 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  61 

ures  the  voice,  rendering  it  agreeable  and  effective  by- 
virtue  of  the  expression,  just  as  a  lofty  soul  or  a  great 
mind  exalts  and  embellishes  an  ordinary  and  even  an 
ugly  countenance. 

The  best  way  in  which  an  orator  can  impart  to  his 
voice  the  sympathetic  power,  even  when  he  may  happen 
not  to  have  it  naturally,  is  to  express  vividly  whatever  he 
says,  and  consequently  to  f ejeHt_well  himself,  in  order  to 
make  others  feel  it.  Above  all,  the  way  is,  to  have  great 
benevolence,  great  charity  in  the  heart,  and  to  love  to~put 
them"  in  practice,  for  nothmg' gives  more  of  sympathy  to 
^  the  voice  than  real  goodness. 

Here  the  precepts  of  art  are  useless.  We  cannot  teach 
emotion,  nor  quick  feelings,  nor  the  habit  of  throwing 
ardor  and  transport  into  word  and  action;  it  is  the 
pectus  (heart)  which  accomplishes  all  this,  and  it  is  the 
pectus  also  which  makes  the  orator — Pectus  est  quod 
disertum  facit.  For  which  reason,  while  we  admit  the 
great  efficacy  of  art  and  precept  in  rendering  the  voice 
supple,  in  disciplining  it,  in  making  it  obedient,  ready, 
capable  of  traversing  all  the  degrees  of  inflection,  and 
producing  each  tone ;  and  while  we  recommend  those  who 
desire  to  speak  in  public  to  devote  themselves  to  this  pre- 
liminary study  for  the  formation  of  their  instrument, 
like  some  skillful  singer  or  practiced  actor,  we  must  still 
remind  them  that  the  best  prepared  instrument  remains 
powerless  and  dead  unless  there  be  a  soul  to  animate  it ; 
and  that  even  without  any  culture,  without  preparation, 
without  this  g>Tnnastic  process,  or  this  training  of  the 
vocal  organs,  whoever  is  impelled  to  speak  by  feeling,  by 
passion,  or  by  conviction,  will  find  spontaneously  the 
tone,  the  inflections,  and  all  the  modifications  of  voice 
which  can  best  correspond  with  what  he  wishes  to 
express.    Art  is  useful  chiefly  to  reciters,  speakers  from 


62         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

memory,  and  actors,  and  thus,  it  is  not  to  be  denied, 
much  effect  may  also  he  produced  by  the  illusion  of  the 
natural.  Still,  it  is  after  all  an  illusion  only,  a  semblance 
of  nature,  and  thus  a  thing  of  artifice ;  and  nature  itself 
will  always  be  superior  to  it. 

For  the  same  reason  an  extemporized  address,  if  it  be 
such  as  it  ought  to  be,  is  more  effective,  and  more  im- 
pressive, than  a  recited  discourse.  It  smacks  less  of  art, 
and  the  voice  vibrating  and  responsive  to  what  the 
speaker  feels  at  the  moment,  finds  naturally  the  tone 
most  proper,  the  true  inflections,  and  genuine  expression. 

2— UTTERANCE 


Utterance  is  a  very  important  condition  of  being  audi- 
ble, and  consequently  of  being  attended  to.  It  deter- 
mines the.  voice,  or  the  vowel,  by  the  modification  which 
this  last  receives  from  the  consonant;  it  produces  syl- 
lables, and  by  joining  them  together,  gives  the  words, 
the  series  of  which  forms  what  is  termed  articulate 
language.  Man  being  organized  for  speech  speaks  nat- 
urally the  language  he  hears,  and  as  he  hears  it.  His 
instinctive  and  original  pronunciation  depends  on  the 
formation  of  the  vocal  organs  and  the  manner 
in  which  those  around  him  pronounce.  Therefore, 
nature  discharges  here  the  chief  function,  but  art 
may  also  exert  a  certain  power  either  to  correct  or 
abate  organic  defects  or  vicious  habits,  or  to  develop  and 
perfect  favorable  aptitudes.  Demosthenes,  the  great- 
est orator  of  antiquity,  whose  very  name  continues  to  be 
the  sjrmbol  of  eloquence,  is  a  remarkable  case  in  point. 
Everybody  is  aware  that  by  nature  he  had  a  difficulty  of 
utterance  almost  amounting  to  a  stammer,  which  he  suc- 
ceeded in  overcoming  by  frequently  declaiming  on  the 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  63 

sea-shore  with  pebbles  in  his  mouth.  The  pebbles  obliged 
him  to  redouble  his  exertions  to  subdue  the  rebellious 
organ,  and  the  noise  of  the  surge,  obliging  him  to  speak 
more  loudly  and  more  distinctly  in  order  to  hear  his  own 
words,  accustomed  him  to  the  still  more  deafening  up- 
roar of  the  people 's  mighty  voice  in  the  market-place. 

Professors  of  elocution  lay  great  stress  on  the  manner  of 
utterance,  and  they  are  right.  To  form  and  "break" 
the  organs  to  a  distinct  and  agreeable  utterance,  much 
practice  is  requisite,  under  able  tuition,  and  such  as  af- 
fords an  example  of  what  it  inculcates. 

First,  there  is  the  emission  of  the  voice — which  the 
practitioner  should  know  how  to  raise  and  lower  through 
every  degree  within  its  range — and  in  each  degree  to  in- 
crease or  diminish,  heighten  or  soften  its  power  accord- 
ing to  circumstances,  but  always  so  as  to  produce  no 
sound  that  is  false  or  disagreeable  to  the  ear. 

Then  comes  articulation^^  which  shoui(i  be  neat,  clear, 
sharply  cut — ^yet  unexaggerated,  or  else  it  wilT  become 
heavy,  harsh,  and  hammer-like,  rending  the  ear. 

Next  to  this  the  prosody  of  the  language  must  be  ob- 
served, giving  its  longs  and  its  shorts ;  as  in  singing,  the 
minims,  semibreves,  quavers,  and  crotchets.  This  im- 
parts to  the  sentence  variety,  movement,  and  measure. 
A  written  or  spoken  sentence  admits,  indeed,  strictly  of 
notation  as  well  as  a  bar  of  music;  and  when  this  nota- 
tion is  followed  by  the  voice  of  the  speaker,  naturally  or 
artificially,  the  discourse  gains  in  expression  and  pleas- 
antness. 

Moreover  there  is  accentuation,  or  emphasis,  which 
marks  the  paramount  tone  of  each  sentence,  and  even  in 
each  word,  the  syllable  on  which  the  chief  stress  should 
be  laid.    Art  may  here  effect  somewhat,  especially  in  the 


64         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

enunciation  of  words ;  but  as  regards  the  emphasis  of  the 
sentence,  it  is  impressed  principally  by  the  palpitation  of 
the  soul,  thrilling  with  desire,  feeling,  or  conviction. 

Finally,  there  is  the  declamatory  movement,  which, 
like  the  measure  in  music,  should  adapt  itself  to  what  is 
to  be  conveyed,  now  grave  and  solemn,  now  light,  rapid, 
with  a  guiding  rein,  slackening  or  urging  the  pace,  be- 
coming nervous  or  gentle,  according  to  the  occasion; 
bursting  forth  at  times  with  the  vehemence  of  a  torrent, 
and  at  times  flowing  gently  with  the  clearness  of  a 
stream,  or  even  trickling,  drop  by  drop,  like  water  noise- 
lessly filtered ;  which,  at  last,  fills  the  vessel  that  receives 
it,  or  wears  out  the  stone  on  which  it  falls. 

In  vocal  speech,  as  in  vocal  music,  there  are  an  in- 
finitude of  gradations;  and  the  orator  should  have  the 
feeling,  the  instinct,  or  the  acquired  habit  of  all  these 
effects;  and  this  implies  in  him  a  special  taste  and  tact 
which  it  may  develop,  but  can  never  implant.  And 
thus  there  is  need  of  caution  here,  as  in  many  other  cases, 
not  to  spoil  nature  by  science,  while  endeavoring  to  per- 
fect her.  School  precepts  may  teach  a  manner,  a  certain 
mechanical  skill  in  elocution,  but  can  never  impart  the 
sacred  fire  which  makes  speech  live,  nor  those  animated, 
delicate,  just  feelings  of  an  excited  or  impassioned  soul, 
and  of  a  mind  convinced,  which  grasps  on  the  instant  the 
peculiarity  of  expression  and  of  voice  which  are  most 
appropriate. 

In  general  the  masters  of  elocution  and  enunciation 
somewhat  resemble  M.  Jourdain's  professor  of  philos- 
ophy, who  shows  him  how  to  do  with  difficulty,  and 
badly,  what  he  used  to  do  naturally  and  well.  "We  all 
speak  prose,  and  not  the  worst  prose,  from  the  outset.  It 
is  pretty  nearly  the  same  with  the  enunciation  of  a  dis- 
course ;  and  with  the  utterance,  the  accentuation,  and  the 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  65 

management  of  speech.  The  best  guides  in  these  mat- 
ters, the  implied  predispositions,  are  nature  and  the  in- 
spiration of  the  moment;  while  example  is  the  most 
profitable  kind  of  teaching.  He  who  has  a  turn  for  elo- 
quence will  learn  how  to  speak  by  hearing  good  speak- 
ing.    It  is  orators  who  principally  form  orators. 

3— ORATORICAL  ACTION 

Under  this  title  are  particularly  comprised  the  move- 
.^^^ments  of  the  countenance,  the  carriage  and  postures  of 
the  body,  and  above  all  gesticulation — three  things  which 
naturally  accompany  speech,  and  in  an  extraordinary  de- 
gree augment  its  expressiveness.  Here,  again,  nature 
achieves  a  great  deal;  but  art  also  assists,  especially  in 
the  management  of  the  body,  and  in  gesticulation. 
V  An  idea  may  be  derived  of  what  the  countenance  of  the 
speaker  adds  to  his  address  from  the  instinctive  want  we 
experience  of  beholding  him,  even  when  he  is  already  suf- 
ficiently audible.  Not  only  all  ears,  but  all  eyes  likewise 
are  bent  upon  the  speaker.  The  fact  is  that  man's  face, 
and,  above  all,  his  eye,  is  the  mirror  of  his  soul ;  also,  in 
the  lightning  of  the  glance,  there  is  a  flush  of  luster  which 
illumines  what  is  said;  and  on  this  account  it  was  un- 
speakably to  be  regretted  that,  Bourdaloue  should  have 
spoken  with  his  eyes  closed.  One  of  the  disadvantages 
of  a  recited  speech  is  to  quench,  or  at  least  to  enfeeble 
and  dim  the  brilliancy  of  the  discourse. 

Besides  which  the  rapid  contractions  and  dilatations 
of  the  facial  muscles — which  are  each  moment  changing 
and  renewing  the  physiognomy,  by  forming  upon  the 
visage  a  sort  of  picture,  analogous  to  the  speaker's  feel- 
ing, or  to  his  thought — these  signs  of  dismay  or  joy,  of 
fear  or  hope,  of  affliction  of  heart  or  of  calmness,  of 
storm  or  serenity,  all  these  causes  which  successively 


66         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

plow  and  agitate  the  countenance,  like  a  sea  shaken  by' 
the  winds,  and  which  impart  so  much  movement  and  life 
to  the  physiognomy  that  it  becomes  like  a  second  dis- 
course which  doubles  the  force  of  the  first — ought  to  be 
employed  by  the  orator  as  so  many  means  of  effect, 
mighty  with  the  crowd  whom  they  strike  and  carry  away. 
But  it  is  under  nature's  dictate  that  he  will  best  employ 
them;  and  the  best,  the  only  method  which  it  behooves 
him  to  follow  in  this  respect  is  to  grasp  powerfully,  and 
to  conceive  thoroughly,  what  he  has  to  unfold  or  to  de- 
scribe; and  then  to  say  it  with  all  the  sincerity  and  all 
the  fervor  of  conviction  or  emotion.  The  face  will  play 
its  own  part  spontaneously;  for,  as  the  various  move- 
ments of  the  countenance  are  produced  of  their  own  ac- 
cord in  the  ratio  of  the  feeling  experienced,  whenever 
you  are  really  moved  and  under  the  influence  of  passion, 
the  face  naturally  adapts  the  emotion  of  the  words,  as 
these  that  of  the  mind;  and  art  can  be  of  little  avail 
under  these  circumstances. 

Let  us,  in  truth,  not  forget  that  the  orator  is  not  an 
actor,  who  plays  a  fictitious  character  by  putting  himself 
in  another's  position.  He  must,  by  dint  of  art,  enter 
into  the  situation  which  he  represents,  and  thus  he  has  no 
means  of  becoming  impressed  or  moved  except  by  the 
study  of  his  model,  and  the  meditation  of  his  part.  He 
must,  accordingly,  compose  his  voice  as  well  as  his 
countenance^^^and-it-xequires  great  cleverness  and  long 
habit  to  imitate  by  the  inflections  of  the  voice,  and  the 
play  of  the  physiognomy,  the  true  and  spontaneous  feel- 
ing of  nature.  The  actor,  in  a  word,  is  obliged  to  grim- 
ace morally  as  well  as  physically;  and  on  this  account, 
even  when  most  successful,  when  most  seeming  to  feel 
what  he  impersonates,  as  he  in  general  feels  it  not,  some- 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  67 

thing  of  this  is  perceptible;  and  it  is  the  most  consum- 
mate actor's  life,  that,  through  a  certain  illusion  of  the 
imagination,  his  acting  is  never  more  than  a  grimace. 
Hence  the  vice,  and  hence  the  disfavor  of  that  profession, 
notwithstanding  all  the  talent  and  study  which  it  re- 
quires ;  there  is  always  something  disingenuous  in  saying 
what  you  do  not  think,  in  manifesting  sentiments  which 
are  not  your  own. 

The  orator,  on  the  contrary,  unless  he  chooses  to  be- 
come the  advocate  of  falsehood,  is  always  with  the  truth. 
He  must  feel  and  think  whatever  he  says,  and  conse- 
quently he  may  allow  his  face  and  his  eyes  to  speak  for 
themselves.  As  soon  as  his  soul  is  moved,  and  becomes 
fervid,  it  will  find  immediate  expression  in  his  counte- 
nance and  in  his  whole  person,  and  the  more  natural  and 
spontaneous  is  the  play  of  his  physiognomy,  the  more  ef- 
fect it  will  produce.  It  is  not  the  same,  or  not  to  the 
same  degree,  with  regard  to  the  movements  of  the  body 
and  to  gesticulation.  The  body,  indeed,  and  limbs  of 
the  speaker,  animated  by  a  soul  expressing  itself  fervidly, 
will  represent  naturally  to  a  certain  degree,  by  their 
outward  movements  the  inward  movements  of  the  mind. 
But  the  machinery,  if  I  may  so,  is  more  complicated, 
heavier,  and  more  cumbersome,  because  matter  ptre- 
dominates  here ;  it  is  not  easy  to  move  without  awkward- 
ness and  elegantly  the  whole  bulk  of  the  body,  and  par- 
ticularly the  arms,  which  are  the  most  mobile  organs, 
and  those  most  in  sight.  How  many  have  a  tolerably 
good  notion  of  speaking,  and  cannot  move  their  arms  and 
hands  properly,  or  have  postures  of  head  and  attitudes 
which  are  at  once  ungraceful  and  at  variance  with  their 
words.  It  is  in  this  department  of  action  that  speakers 
most  betray  their  inexperience  and  embarrassment ;  and, 


68         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

at  the  same  time,  the  clumsiness  or  inappropriateness  of 
the  gestures;  the  puerility  or  affectation  of  the  attitudes 
used  are  enough  to  spoil  the  best  speech's  effect. 

Efforts  are  worth  making,  then,  to  acquire  beforehand 
good  habits  in  this  respect,  in  order  that  the  body,  trained 
with  deliberation  to  impulse  of  the  words,  and  to  adapt 
itself  to  their  inspiration,  may  execute  of  its  own  accord, 
and  gracefully,  the  most  expressive  movements,  may  it- 
self take  the  most  appropriate  attitudes,  and  not  have 
its  limbs  working  ineffectually  or  untowardly,  with  the 
arms  motionless  and  tied  down  to  the  figure,  or  the  hands 
nailed  to  the  pulpit  or  the  platform  balustrade.  An 
abrupt  or  jerky  gesticulation  is  specially  to  be  avoided, 
such  as  a  regular  swing  up  and  down,  down  and  up 
again,  of  the  speaker 's  arms,  which  gives  the  appearance 
of  two  hatchets  incessantly  at  work.  Generally  speak- 
ing, moderation  is  better  than  superfluity  of  gesticula- 
tion. Nothing  is  more  wearisome  to  the  audience  than  a 
violent  delivery  without  respite ;  and  next  to  a  monotony 
of  voice,  nothing  more  readily  puts  it  to  sleep  than  a  ges- 
ture, forever  repeated,  which  marks  with  exactness  each 
part  of  the  period,  as  a  pendulum  keeps  time. 

This  portion  of  oratorical  delivery,  more  important 
than  is  supposed,  greatly  attended  to  by  the  ancients, 
and  too  much  neglected  by  the  modems,  may  be  acquired 
by  all  the  exercises  which  form  the  body,  by  giving  it 
carriage  and  ease,  grace  of  countenance  and  motipn ;  and 
still  more  by  well-directed  studies  in  etocution  in  what 
concerns  gesture  under  a  clever  master.  To  this  should 
be  added  the  often-repeated  study  of  the  example  of 
those  speakers  who  are  most  distinguished  for  the  quality 
in  question — which  is  only  too  rare  at  the  present  day. 

But  what  perhaps  conduces  more  than  all  this  to  form 
the  faculty  mentioned  is  the  frequenting,  good  company 


) 


PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES  69 

— that  is,  of  the  society,  most  distinguished  for 
elegance  of  language  and  fine  manners.  Nothing  can 
supply  the  place  in  this  regard  of  a  primary  education 
in  the  midst  of  the  most  refined  class.  In  this  medium 
the  youth  fashions  himself,  as  it  were,  of  his  own  accord, 
by  the  impressions  he  is  every  moment  receiving,  and  the 
instinctive  imitation  of  what  he  sees  and  hears.  It  is  the 
f  privilege  of  high  society,  and  of  what  used  to  be  called 
men  of  the  court.  There  one  learns  to  speak  with  cor- 
rectness and  grace,  almost  without  study,  by  the  mere 
force  of  habit;  and  if  persons  of  quality  combined  with 
this  facility  of  elocution  that  science,  which  is  to  be  ac- 
quired only  by  study,  and -the  power  of  reflection,  which 
is  formed  chiefly  in  solitude — and  this  is  not  very  com- 
patible with  the  life  of  the  great  world — ^they  would 
achieve  oratorical  successes  more  easily  than  other  peo- 
ple. 

But  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  deficient  in  acquire- 
ments— ^whereas  learned  and  thinking*  inen  generally  err 
in  the  manner. 

To  sum  up :  over  and  above  the  store  of  science  and  of 
knowledge  indispensable  to  the  orator — ^who,  beyond 
everything,  should  be  acquainted  wdth  his  subject — the 
predispositions  most  needful  in  the  art  of  speaking,  and 
susceptible  of  acquisition,  are — 

1.  The  habit  of  taking  thought  to  pieces,  and  putting  it 
together — or  analysis  and  synthesis. 

2.  A  knowledge  of  how  to  write  correctly,  clearly,  and 
elegantly. 

3.  A  capacity  for  the  handling  of  language  at  will  and 
without  effort,  and  for  the  sudden  construction  of 
sentences,  without  stoppages  or  faults. 

4.  A  power  of  ready  and  intelligent  declamation. 

5.  A  neat,  distinct,  and  eifiphatic  utterance. 


N 


70         PHYSICAL  ACQUIRED  QUALITIES 

6.  A  good  carriage  of  body. 

7.  An  easy,  expressive,  and  graceful  gesticulation. 

8.  And,  above  all  this,  manners  and  an  air  of  distinc- 
tion, natural  or  acquired. 


PART  II 

CHAPTER  V 

DIVISION   OF   THE   SUBJECT 

We  have  stated  all  the  dispositions,  natural  or  acquired, 
which  are  necessary,  or,  at  all  events,  most  useful  to  the 
orator.  We  proceed  now  to  set  him  to  work,  and  we  shall 
consider  him  in  all  the  steps  of  his  task,  and  the  succes- 
sive processes  which  he  has  to  employ,  to  carry  it  pros- 
perously to  completion. 

It  is  perfectly  understood  that  we  make  no  pretense  to 
the  laying  down  of  rules ;  our  object  is  not  to  promulgate 
a  theory  nor  a  didactic  treatise.  We  are  giving  a  few 
recommendations  derived  from  our  own  experience — and 
each  person  will  take  advantage  of  them  as  he  best  may, 
adopting  or  leaving  according  to  his  convenience  what  he 
chooses,  and  following  his  own  bent  or  requirements. 

Each  mind,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  personality,  has  its 
individual  character,  its  owd.  life,  which  can  never  be  an- 
other's,  although  it  resembles  all  of  its  kind.  If  in  the 
physical  world  there  are  no  two  things  quite  alike,  still 
less  are  there  among  intelligent  and  free  creatures. 
Here,  a  still  more  wondrous  variety  prevails  in  conse- 
quence of  a  certain  liberty  which  exists,  smd  which  acts 
in  these  different  manners,  though  limited  to  certain 
general  conditions  of  development  and  subject  to  the 
same  laws.     To  this  is  due  the  originality  of  minds,  which 

71 


^ 


72  DIVISION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

is,  in  the  intellectual  order,  what  responsibility  is  in  the 
moral. 

But  while  fully  granting  this  variety  of  action,  spring- 
ing from  the  nature,  dispositions,  and  circumstances  of 
each  person,  still,  after  all,  as  we  are  of  the  same  species 
and  the  same  race,  and  as  our  mental  and  physical  or- 
ganization is  at  the  root  the  same,  we  must  all,  when  in 
similar  situations,  act  in  a  manner  fundamentally  analo- 
gous, although  different  as  to  form ;  and  for  this  reason, 
indications  of  a  general  nature,  the  result  of  a  long  and 
laborious  experience,  may,  within  a  certain  measure, 
prove  useful  to  all,  or  at  least  to  many. 

This  it  is  which  encourages  us  to  unfold  the  results  of 
ours,  giving  them  for  what  they  are,  without  imposing 
them  on  anybody,  in  the  deeply  sincere  desire  of  doing 
a  service  to  the  young  generation  which  comes  after  us, 
and  sparing  them  the  rocks  and  mishaps  of  a  difficult 
navigation  often  accomplished  by  us. 

To  speak  in  public  is  to  address  several  persons  at 
once,  an  assemblage  incidentally  or  intentionally  col- 
lected, for  some  purpose  or  other.  Now  this  may  be  done 
under  the  most  diverse  circumstances,  and  for  various 
objects — and  accordingly  the  discourse  must  be  adapted 
both  in  matter  and  in  form  to  these  varying  conditions. 
Yet  are  there  requisites  common  to  them  all,  which  must 
be  everywhere  fulfilled,  if  the  speaker  would  speak  per- 
tinently, and  with  any  chance  of  success. 

In  fact,  the  end  of  public  speaking  is  to  win  the  assent 
of  the  hearers,  to  imbue  them  with  your  own  convic- 
tions, or  at  least  to  incline  them  to  feel,  to  think,  and  to 
will  according  to  your  purpose,  with  reference  to  a  given 
object. 

Hence,  whenever  you  speak,  and  whatever  the 
audience,  there  is  something  to  be  said  which  is  indi- 


DIVISION  OF  THE  SUBJECT  73 

cated  by  the  circumstances ;  there  is  the  way  in  saying  it, 
or  the  method  and  plan  according  to  which  you  will  un- 
fold your  thought ;  and  finally  there  is  the  realization  of 
this  plan  by  the  actual  discourse,  composed  and  uttered 
on  the  instant  before  those  whom  you  would  persuade. 
Thus  in  an  extemporaneous  discourse  there  are  three 
things  to  be  considered : — 

1.  The  subject  being  supplied  by  the  circumstances, 
there  is  the  preparation  of  the  plan  or  the  organization 
of  the  discourse,  by  means  of  which  you  take  possession 
of  your  subject. 

2.  The  transcript  of  impression  of  this  plan  (originally 
fixed  on  paper  by  the  pen)  in  the  head  of  the  speaker, 
wherein  it  should  be  written  in  a  living  fashion. 

3.  The  discourse  itself,  or  the  successive  and,  as  far  as 
possible,  complete  spoken  realization  of  the  plan  pre- 
pared. 

Sometimes  the  two  first  operations  blend  into  one — as, 
for  example,  you  have  to  speak  suddenly  without  having 
time  to  write  your  plan  or  to  consider  it.  But  when  time 
is  allowed,  they  should  be  separate,  and  each  requires  its 
own  moment. 

TVe  proceed  to  examine  these  three  matters  in  suc- 
cession. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PREPARATION  OP  THE  PLAN 

The  preparation  of  the  plan  of  a  discourse  implies,  be- 
fore anything  else,  a  knowledge  of  the  things  about  which 
you  have  to  speak ;  but  a  general  knowledge  is  n6t  enough ; 
you  may  have  a  great  quantity  of  materials,  of  docu- 
ments, and  of  information  in  your  memory,  and  not  be 
aware  how  to  bring  them  to  bear.  It  sometimes  even 
happens  that  those  who  know  most,  or  have  most  matter 
in  their  heads,  are  incapable  of  rightly  conveying  it. 
The  over  abundance  of  acquisition  and  words  crushes  the 
mind,  and  stifles  it,  just  as  the  head  is  paralyzed  by  a 
too  great  determination  of  blood,  or  a  lamp  is  ex- 
tinguished by  an  excess  of  oil. 

You  must  begin,  therefore,  by  methodizing  what  you 
know  about  the  subject  you  wish  to  treat,  and  thus,  in 
each^discourse,  you  must  adopt  as  your  center,  or  chief 
idea,  the  point  to  be  explained,  but  subordinate  to  this 
Idea  all  the  rest,  in  such  a  way  as  to  constitute  a  sort  of 
organisim,  having  its  head,  its  organs,  its  main  limbs,  and 
all  the  means  of  connection  and  of  circulation  by  which 
the  light  of  the  paramount  idea,  emanating  from  the 
focus,  may  be  communicated  to  the  furthest  parts,  even 
to  the  last  thought,  and  last  word ;  as  in  the  human  body 
the  blood  emerges  from  the  heart,  and  is  spread  through- 
out all  the  tissues,  animating  and  coloring  the  surface  of 
the  skin. 

Thus  only  will  there  be  life  in  the  discourse,  because  a 

74 


PREPARATION  OF  THE  PLAN  75 

true  unity  will  reign  in  it — ^that  is,  a  natural  unity  re- 
sulting from  an  interior  development,  an  unfolding  from 
within,  and  not  from  an  artificial  gathering  of  hetero- 
geneous members  and  their  arbitrary  juxtaposition. 

This  constitutes  the  difference  between  words  that  live 
and  words  that  are  dead.  These  last  may  often  also  have 
a  certain  brilliancy  from  the  gorgeousness  of  the  style 
or  the  elegance  of  the  sentence,  but  after  having  for  a 
moment  charmed  the  ear,  they  leave  the  mind  cold  and 
the  heart  empty.  The  speaker  not  being  master  of  his 
subject,  which  he  has  not  gone  into,  nor  made  his  own  by 
meditation,  reflects  or  reverberates  other  people's  ideas, 
without  adding  to  them  a  particle  of  his  heat  or  of  his 
life.  It  is  a  pale  and  borrowed  light  which,  like  that  of 
the  moon,  enables  you  to  see  vaguely  and  indistinctly,  but 
neither  warms  nor  fertilizes ;  possessing  only  a  frigid  and  Y 
deadened  luster. 

Speakers  of  this  kind,  even  when  they  extemporize, 
speak  rather  from  memory  than  the  understanding  or 
feelings.  They  reproduce  more  or  less  easily  shreds  of 
what  they  have  read  or  heard — and  they  have  exactly 
enough  mind  to  effect  this  reproduction  with  a  certain 
facility,  which  tends  to  fluency  or  to  twaddle.  They  do 
not  thoroughly  know  what  they  are  speaking  about ;  they 
do  not  themselves  understand  all  they  saj^,  still  less  make 
others  understand.  They  have  not  entered  into  their 
subject ;  they  have  filled  their  apprehension  with  a  mass 
oJ  things  relating  to  it,  which  trickle  out  gradually  as 
from  a  reservoir  or  through  a  tap  which  they  open  and 
shut  at  pleasure.  Eloquence  of  this  description  is  but 
so  much  plain  water,  or  rather  it  is  so  much  troubled 
water,  bearing  nothing  along  its  passage  but  words  and 
the  specters  of  thoughts,  and  pouring  into  the  hearer's 
mind    disgust,    wearisomeness,    and    nausea.     Silence, 


76  PKEPARATIOITOF  THE  PLAN 

which,  would  at  least  leave  the  desire  of  listening,  were 
a  hundredfold  preferable ;  but  these  spinners  of  talk,  who 
give  us  phrases  instead  of  thoughts,  and  exclamations  in- 
stead of  feelings,  take  away  all  wish  to  hear  and  inspire 
a  disgust  for  speaking  itself. 

There  is  no  way  of  avoiding  this  disadvantage  except 
by  means  of  a  well-conceived,  deeply-considered,  and 
seriously-elaborated  plan.  He  who  knows  not  how  to 
form  such  plan  will  never  speak  in  a  living  or  an  ef- 
fective manner.  He  may  become  a  rhetorician;  but  he 
will  never  be  an  orator. 

Let  us,  then,  see  by  what  process  this  foundation  of  the 
orator 's  task  must  be  laid ;  for  it  is  to  a  discourse  what 
the  architect 's  design  is  to  a  building. 

The  plan  of  a  discourse  is  the  order  of  the  things  which 
have  to  he  unfolded.  You  must  therefore  begin  by 
gathering  these  together,  whether  facts  or  ideas,  and  ex- 
amining each  separately,  in  their  relation  to  the  subject 
or  purport  of  the  discourse,li^d  in  their  mutual  bear- 
ings with  respect  to  it.  N^3^a^ter  having  selected  those 
which  befit  the  subject,-mid  rejecting  those  which  do  not, 
you  must  marshal  them  around  the  mainjdea,  in  such 
a  way  as  to  arrange  them  according  to  their  rank  and  imT_ 
portance,  WltK~Teispect  to  tlie  result  which  you  have  in 
view.  But,  what  is  worth  still  more  than  even  this  com- 
position or  synthesis,  you  should  try,  when  possible,  to 
draw  forth,  by  analysis  or  deduction,  the  complete  de- 
velopment of  one  single  idea,  which  becomes  not  merely 
the  center,  but  the  very  principle  of  the  rest.  This  is 
the  best  manner  of  explaining  or  developing,  because  ex- 
istences are  thus  produced  in  nature,  and  a  discourse,  to 
have  its  full  value,  and  full  efficiency,  should  imitate  her 
in  her  vital  process,  and  perfect  it  by4dealizing  that 
process. 


PREPARATION  OF  THE  PLAN  77 

In  fact,  reason,  when  thinking  and  expressing  its 
thought,  performs  a  natural  function,  like  the  plant 
which  germinates,  flowers,  and  bears  fruit.  It  operates, 
indeed,  according  to  a  more  exalted  power,  but  it  follows 
in  the  operation  the  same  laws  as  all  beings  endued 
with  life;  and  the  methods  of  analysis  and  synthesis,  of 
deduction  and  induction,  essential  to  it  have  their  types 
and  symbols  in  the  vital  acts  of  organic  beings,  which 
all  proceed  likewise  by  the  way  of  expansion  and  con- 
traction, unfolding  and  enfolding,  diffusion  and  col- 
lection. 

The  most  perfect  plan  is,  therefore,  the  plan  which 
organizes  a  discourse  in  the  manner  nature  constitutes 
any  being  fraught  with  life.  It  is  the  sole  means  of 
giving  to  speaking  a  real  and  natural  unity,  and,  conse- 
quently, real  strength  and  beauty,  which  consist  in  the 
unity  of  life. 

This  is  doubtless  the  best  method;  but  you  can  often 
but  make  an  approach  towards  it,  depending  on  the  na- 
ture of  the  subject  and  the  circumstances  in  which  you 
have  to  speak.  Hence  a  few  differences,  which  must  be 
mentioned,  in  the  elaboration  of  the  plan. 

In  the  first  place,  we  give  warning  that  we  do  not 
mean  to  concern  ourselves  with  that  popular  eloquence 
which  sometimes  fulminates  like  a  thunderbolt  amidst 
the  anarchy  of  states  in  riots,  insurrections,  and  revolu- 
tions. Eloquence  of  that  sort  has  no  time  to  arrange  a 
plan ;  it  speaks  according  to  the  circumstances  and,  as  it 
were,  at  the  dictate  of  the  winds  by  which  it  is  borne 
along;  it  partakes  of  that  disorder  which  has  called  it 
forth,  and  this  is  what,  for  the  most  part,  constitutes  its 
power,  which  is  mighty  to  destroy.  It  acts  after  the 
fashion  of  a  hurricane,  which  upsets  everything  in  its 
course  by  the  blind  fury  of  the  passions  which  it  arouses, 


78  PREPARATION  OF  THE  PLAN 

of  the  unreasoning  wills  which  it  carries  with  it,  and 
yields  no  ray  from  the  light  of  thought,  nor  a  charm 
from  the  beauty  of  style.  This  instinctive  and  not  very 
intelligent  kind  of  eloquence  is  to  that  of  which  we  are 
treating  as  the  force  of  nature,  when  let  loose  in  the 
earthquake  or  in  great  floods,  is  to  the  ordinary  and 
regular  laws  of  Providence,  which  produces,  develops, 
and  preserves  whatever  exists ;  it  is  the  force  of  the  steam 
which  bursts  the  boiler,  and  spreads  disaster  and  death 
wherever  it  reaches;  whereas,  when  powerfully  com- 
pressed within  its  proper  limits,  and  directed  with  intelli- 
gence, it  works  regularly  under  the  control  of  a  skillful 
hand,  and  toils  orderly  and  in  peace  for  the  welfare  of 
men. 

"We  have  no  recommendations,  then,  to  offer  to  the  ora- 
tors of  cabal  rooms  and  riots,  nor  even  to  those  who  may 
be  called  on  to  resist  or  quell  them.  It  is  hard  to  make 
any  suitable  preparation  in  such  emergencies,  and,  be- 
sides, they  are  fraught  with  so  much  of  the  unforeseen, 
that,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  all  preparation  would  be 
disconcerted.  What  can  be  done  is  what  must  be  done, 
according  to  the  moment ;  and,  in  general,  it  is  the  most 
passionate,  the  most  violent,  and  he  who  shouts  the 
loudest  who  carries  the  day.  Moreover,  there  is  nearly 
always  a  species  of  fatality  which  prevails  in  these  situa- 
tions: the  force  of  things  crushes  the  force  of  men.  It 
is  a  rock  loosened  from  the  mountain-side,  and  falling 
headlong — a  torrent  swelling  as  it  rushes  onward,  or  the 
lava  of  a  volcano  overflowing:  to  endeavor  to  stay  them 
is  madness.  All  one  can  do  is  to  protect  oneself;  the 
evil  will  be  exhausted  by  its  own  course,  and  order  will 
return  after  the  storm. 

But  in  the  normal  state  of  society — and  it  is  for  that 
state  we  write — by  the  very  fact  of  social  organization. 


PREPARATION  OF  THE  PLAN  79 

and  springing  out  of  its  forms,  there  are  constantly  cases 
in  which  you  may  be  called  to  speak  in  public,  on  ac- 
count of  the  position  which  you  fill  or  the  duties  which 
you  discharge.  Thus,  committees  will  continually  exist, 
in  which  are  discussed  state  or  municipal  interests,  and 
deliberative  or  boardroom  resolutions  are  passed  by  a 
majority  of  votes,  whatever  may  be  the  constitution  or 
the  power  of  such  assemblies — considerations  with  which 
we  have  no  concern  here.  There  will  always  be  a  council 
of  state,  general  and  borough  councils,  legislative  as- 
semblies, parliaments,  and  committees  of  a  hundred 
sorts. 

In  the  second  place,  there  will  always  be  tribunals 
where  justice  is  dispensed,  and  where  the  interests  of 
individuals,  in  collision  with  those  of  the  public  or  with 
one  another,  have  to  be  contended  for  before  judges 
whom  you  must  seek  to  convince  or  persuade. 

There  will  always  be  a  system  of  public  teaching  to  en- 
lighten and  train  the  people,  whether  by  the  addresses  of 
scientific  men,  who  have  to  instruct  the  inhabitants  in 
various  degrees,  and  to  inform  them  what  is  needed  for 
the  good  guidance  of  public  and  of  private  life  in 
temporal  matters,  or  by  the  addresses  of  the  ministers  of 
religion,  who,  teaching  in  the  name  of  the  Almighty, 
must  unremittingly  remind  men  of  their  last  end,  and  of 
the  best  means  with  which  to  meet  it,  making  their 
earthly  and  transitory  interest  subordinate  to  their 
celestial  and  everlasting  happiness. 

Here,  then,  we  have  four  great  fields  in  which  men 
are  daily  called  on  to  speak  in  public,  in  order  there  to 
discuss  the  gravest  interests  of  society,  of  family,  and 
of  individuals,  or  else  to  unfold  truths  more  or  less  lofty, 
often  hard  to  comprehend  or  to  admit,  and  the  knowl- 
edge or  conviction  of  which  is  of  the  highest  moment  to 


80  PREPARATION  OF  THE  PLAN 

the  welfare  of  society  and  persons.  It  is  anything  but 
immaterial,  then,  that  men  belonging  to  such  callings, 
destined  from  day  to  day  to  debate  public  or  private  con- 
cerns, or  to  demonstrate  the  fundamental  truths  of 
science  and  religion,  should  know  how  to  do  so  with 
method,  clearness,  power,  and  gracefulness — in  one  word, 
with  all  the  means  of  persuasion — that  they  may  not  fail 
in  their  mission,  and  especially  that  they  may  dissemi- 
nate and  render  triumphant  in  the  minds  of  men,  to- 
gether with  good  sense  and  right  reason,  that  justice, 
that  truth,  and  those  principles,  in  the  absence  of  which 
nothing  can  be  stable  or  durable  among  nations.  This 
alone  would  show  what  importance  for  good  or  for  evil 
the  orator  may  acquire  in  society,  since  to  his  lot  it  falls 
to  prepare,  train,  and  control  almost  all  the  resolutions 
of  communities  or  of  individuals,  that  can  modify  their 
present  or  decide  their  future  condition. 

Our  remarks  then  will  apply  to  four  classes  of  speakers 
— the  political  orator ;  the  forensic  orator,  whether  magis- 
trate or  advocate;  the  orator  of  education,  or  the  pro- 
fessor: and  the  orator  of  the  Christian  pulpit,  or  the 
preacher.  In  these  four  arenas,  the  political  assembly, 
the  sanctuary  of  justice,  the  academy,  and  the  Church, 
extemporaneous  speaking  is  daily  practiced,  and  is 
capable  of  the  most  salutary  influence,  when  fraught 
with  ability,  life,  and  power,  or,  in  other  words,  when 
performed  with  eloquence. 


CHAPTER  VII 

POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC   SPEAKING 

I  WILL  say  but  little  of  political  and  forensic  speaking, 
because  I  have  not  been  used  to  either,  and  my  wish  is 
to  be  exponent  of  my  own  experience.  I  leave  profes- 
sional adepts  to  give  their  colleagues  the  best  of  all  ad- 
vice, that  derived  from  actual  practice.  This  would  re- 
quire details  with  which  nothing  but  the  exercise  of 
public  duties,  or  of  the  bench  and  bar  themselves,  could 
make  us  acquainted.  I  will  therefore  confine  myself  to 
a  few  general  remarks  derived  from  the  theory  of  the 
oratorical  art,  as  applied  to  the  duties  of  the  politician 
and  advocate. 

The  political  orator  may  have  two  sorts  of  questions 
to  treat' — questions  of  principle,  and  questions  of  fact. 

In  the  latter,  which  is  the  more  ordinary  case,  at  least 
among  well  constituted  communities,  whose  legislation 
and  government  rest  upon  remote  precedents  and  are 
fixed  by  experience,  the  plan  of  a  discourse  is  easy  to_ 
construct.  With  principles  acknowledged  by  all  parties, 
the  only  point  is  to  state  the  matter  with  the  circum- 
stances which  qualify  it  and  the  reasons  which  urge  the 
determination  demanded  from  the  voice  of  the  assembly. 
The  law  or  custom  to  which  appeal  is  made,  constitutes 
the  major  premiss  (as  it  is  termed  in  Logic) ;  the  actual 
case,  brought  by  the  circumstances,  within  that  law  or 
those  precedents,  constitutes  the  minor  premiss;  and 
the  conclusion  follows  of  its  own  accord.    In  order  to 

81 


82    POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING 

carry  away  the  assent  of  the  majority,  you  describe  the 
advantages  of  the  proposed  measure,  and  the  inex- 
pediency of  the  opposite  course,  or  of  any  other  line. 

To  treat  such  subjects  properly,  there  needs  no  more 
than  good  sense,  a  certain  business  habit,  and  a  clear  con- 
ception of  what  you  would  say  and  what  you  demand. 
You  must  thoroughly  know  what  you  yi^£ii,  and  how  to 
express  it.  In  my  mind,  this  is  the  best  politic^tT^To-"" 
quence7"tliat  is,  business  speaking,  expounding  the  busi- 
ness clearly,  succinctly  with  a  knowledge  of  the  matter, 
saying  only  what  is  necessary,  with  tact  and  temperately, 
and  omitting  all  parade  of  words  and  big  expressions, 
even  those  which  embody  sentiments,  save  now  and  then 
in  the  exordium  and  peroration,  according  to  the  case. 
It  is  in  this  way  that  they  generally  speak  in  the  British 
Parliament;  and  these  speeches  are  of  some  use;  they 
come  to  something,  and  carry  business  forward,  or  end 
it.  Happy  the  nation  which  has  no  other  sort  of 
political  eloquence !  Unfortunately  for  us,  another  sort 
has  prevailed  in  our  own  parliamentary  assemblies. 

Among  us,  from  the  day  that  representative  govern- 
ment was  established,  political  discourses  have  almost  in- 
variably turned  upon  questions  of  principle ;  no  well  es- 
tablished and  universally  respected  constitution — ^no  set- 
tled course  of  legislation  confirmed  by  custom — no  recog- 
nized and  admitted  precedents — things  all  of  which 
strengthen  the  orator's  position,  because  he  has  already 
decisions  on  which  to  rest,  and  examples  to  give  him  their 
support.  Time  has  been  almost  always  employed,  or 
rather  wasted  in  laying  down  principles,  or  in  trying  to 
enforce  what  were  advanced  as  principles.  The  consti- 
tution itself  and,  consequently,  the  organization  of  so- 
ciety and  government  have  always  been  subjects  of  dis- 
pute; and  all  our  assemblies — whatever  the  name  with 


POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING     83 

which  they  have  been  adorned — have  been  directly  or  in- 
directly in  the  state  of  a  constituent  (or  primary)  body. 

Now,  this  is  the  worst  of  situations  for  the  orator,  for 
the  assemblies  themselves,  and  for  the  country;  and  ex- 
perience has  proved  it,  in  spite  of  some  good  speeches, 
and  the  reputation  of  several  orators  of  whom  France  is 
proud. 

In  these  cases,  in  fact,  the  speaker  is  greatly  at  a  loss 
how  to  treat  new  and  unexampled  questions,  except  by 
foreign  instances  which  are  never  exactly  applicable  to 
another  country.  His  ideas,  not  being  enlightened  or 
supported  by  experience,  remain  vague  and  float  in  a 
kind  of  chaos ;  and  yet,  as  demonstration  requires  a  basis 
of  some  sort,  he  is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  philosophic 
theories,  to  abstract  ideas  which  may  always  be  disputed, 
which  are  often  obscure  and  unintelligible  to  the  ma- 
jority of  the  hearers,  and  are  impugned  by  the  votaries 
of  hostile  systems.  Once  launched  into  the  ideas  of 
philosophers  the  debate  knows  neither  limits  nor  law. 
The  most  irreconcilable  opinions  meet  and  clash,  and  it 
is  not  always  light  which  springs  from  their  collision. 
On  the  contrary  the  longer  the  deliberation  continues, 
the  thicker  the  darkness  becomes;  Parliament  degener- 
ates into  an  academy  of  philosophers,  an  arena  of 
sophists  and  rhetoricians ;  and,  as  something  must  be  con- 
cluded, either  because  of  the  pressure  of  necessity,  or  in 
consequence  of  the  wearisomeness  of  the  speeches  and 
the  satiety  of  debate,  the  discussion  is  closed  without  the 
question  having  been  settled,  and  the  votes,  at  least  those 
of  the  majority,  are  given,  not  in  accordance  with  any 
convictions  newly  acquired,  but  with  the  signal  of  each 
voter's  party. 

It  is  said  that  such  a  course  is  necessary  in  an  assembly, 
if  business  is  to  be  transacted;  and  I  believe  it,  since 


84    POLITICAL  AND  FOBENSIC  SPEAKING 

there  would  otherwise  be  no  end  of  the  deliberation. 
But  it  must  be  conceded  to  me  withal,  that  to  vote  from 
confidence  in  party  leaders,  and  because  these  have 
marked  out  the  path  to  be  pursued,  is  not  a  very  enlight- 
ened way  of  serving  one's  country  and  discharging  the 
trust  reposed  by  a  constituency. 

Unfortunately,  decisions  thus  formed  lead  to  nothing 
permanent,  and  that  is  the  fatal  thing  both  for  the  as- 
semblies and  for  the  nation.  They  found  nothing,  be- 
cause they  are  not  held  in  serious  regard  by  a  com- 
munity, divided  like  their  Parliaments  into  majorities 
and  minorities,  which  obtain  the  mastery  in  turn  over 
each  other.  It  comes  to  pass  that  what  one  government 
does  the  next  cancels ;  and  as  the  battle  is  perpetually  re- 
newed, and  parties  competing  for  power  attain  it  in 
more  or  less  rapid  succession,  every  form  of  contradic- 
tion, within  a  brief  space,  appears  and  vanishes,  each 
having  sufficiently  prevailed  in  rotation  to  destroy  its 
rival. 

Hence  a  profound  discredit  in  public  opinion  for 
laws  continually  passed  and  continually  needing  to  be 
passed  again,  and  thus  incapable  of  taking  root  either 
in  the  minds  of  the  citizens  or  in  their  reverence.  Legis- 
lation becomes  a  species  of  chaos  in  which  nothing  can 
be  solidly  fixed,  because  it  abounds  with  elements  of  re- 
volt which  combat  and  disorganize  whatever  is  produced 
there. 

Moreover — and  this  too  is  a  calamity  for  the  country 
— as  parties  are,  for  the  most  part,  not  unevenly 
matched,  and  as  the  majority  depends  on  a  few  votes, 
in  order  to  come  to  a  decision  so  habitually  uncertain,  it 
is  necessary,  on  important  occasions,  to  make  a  fusion  or 
coalition  of  parties  in  one  way  or  another  by  the  lures 
of  private  interest,  which  can  be  effected  only  through 


POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING     85 

mutual  concessions;  and  then,  when  unanimity  appears 
to  have  been  procured  in  the  mass  of  stipulations,  each 
person,  desirous  of  obtaining  his  own  guarantees,  re- 
quires that  some  special  provision,  on  his  account,  be 
introduced  in  some  particular  to  the  subversion  of  the 
general  design.  Now,  let  but  three  or  four  parties  exist 
in  a  national  assembly  (and  it  is  a  blessing  if  there  be  no 
more),  and  it  is  easy  to  see  what  sort  of  law  it  will  be 
which  is  thus  made;  a  species  of  compound,  mixed  of 
the  most  irreconcilable  opinions;  a  monstrous  being,  the 
violently  united  parts  of  which  wage  an  intense  war,  and 
which,  therefore,  after  all  the  pain  which  its  produc- 
tion has  cost,  is  incapable  of  life.  Nor  can  such  laws  be 
applied ;  and  after  a  disastrous  trial,  if  they  are  not  pres- 
ently abolished  by  the  party  which  next  obtains  the 
mastery  in  its  turn,  they  fall  into  disuse,  or  operate  only 
by  dint  of  exceptions  and  makeshifts,  remaining  as  a 
cumber  and  a  clog  in  the  wheels  of  the  political  machine, 
which  they  continually  threaten  with  dislocation  or  an 
upset. 

Whatever  may  have  been  said  or  done  in  our  own  day, 
there  is  nothing  more  deplorable  for  a  people  than  a  con- 
stitution-making assembly;  for  it  is  a  collection,  of 
philosophers  or  of  men  who  fancy  they  are  such,  who  do 
not  quite  understand  themselves,  and  assuredly  do  not 
understand  each  other.  Then  are  the  destinies  of  a  na- 
tion, its  form  of  government,  its  administration,  its  con- 
dition and  its  fortune,  its  welfare  and  its  misery,  its 
glory  and  its  shame,  consigned  to  the  hazards  and  the 
contradictions  of  systems  and  theories. 

Now,  only  name  me  a  single  philosopher  who  has  ut- 
tered the  truth,  and  the  whole  truth,  about  the  prin- 
ciples, metaphysical,  moral,  and  political,  which  should 
serve  as  the  basis  of  the  social  structure.     Have  they  not 


86    POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING 

in  this  most  serious  concern,  to  even  a  greater  degree 
than  in  other  matters,  justified  that  remark  of  Cicero, 
that  there  is  not  an  absurdity  which  has  not  found  some 
philosopher  to  maintain  it?  If  you  set  several  of  them 
together,  then,  to  work  out  a  constitution,  how  can  you 
hope  they  will  agree  ?  They  cannot  agree  except  in  one 
way — that  which  we  just  now  described — by  mutual  con- 
cessions extorted  from  interest,  not  from  conviction ;  and 
the  force  of  things  will  oblige  them  to  produce  a  ridicu- 
lous and  impracticable  result,  repugnant  to  the  good 
sense  and  conscience  of  the  nation. 
y  j  But  how  then,  it  will  be  said,  make  a  nation's  consti- 
y  I    tution?     To  this  I  answer,  a  nation's  constitution  is  not 

/      made,  it  grows  of  itself;  or  rather  it  is  Divine  Provi- 
dence, who  assumes  the  office  of  making  it  by  the  process 
1      of  centuries,  and  writes  it  with  His  finger  in  a  people's 
\    history.     It    was    thus    the    English    constitution    was 
formed,  and  that  is  why  it  lasts. 

Or  if,  unhappily,  after  a  revolution  which  has  de- 
stroyed all  a  country 's  precedents,  which  has  shaken  and 
uprooted  everything  in  the  land,  it  becomes  necessary  to 
constitute  it  anew,  we  must  then  do  as  the  ancients  did, 
who  had  more  sense  than  we  have  in  this  respect;  we 
must  entrust  the  business  to  one  man  endowed  with  an 
intelligence  and  an  authority  adequate  to  this  great  feat, 
and  impersonating,  for  the  moment,  the  entire  nation; 
we  must  commit  it  to  a  Lycurgus,  a  Solon,  or  a  Pytha- 
goras; for  nothing  needs  more  wisdom,  reason,  or  cour- 
age than  such  an  enterprise,  and  men  of  genius  are 
not  always  equal  to  it,  if  circumstances  do  not  assist 
them.  At  all  events,  to  this  we  must  come  after  revolu- 
tions, and  their  various  experiments  of  parliamentary 
constitution.  The  seven  or  eight  constitutions  of  the  first 
republic  ended  in  that  of  the  empire  which  sprang  full 


POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING     87 

armed  from  the  head  of  the  new  Jupiter;  and  the  Con- 
stituent Assembly  of  1848,  with  its  new  birth  so 
laboriously  produced,  but  no  more  capable  of  life  than 
the  others,  vanished  in  a  single  day  before  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  new  empire,  which  is  nothing  at  the  root  but 
that  of  the  old.  By  this  road  we  have  come — if  not  to 
that  liberty  of  which  they  have  said  so  much,  but  which 
they  never  allowed  us  to  behold — to  good  sense  and 
order,  and  to  the  peace  of  social  life. 

In  one  word,  then,  I  will  say,  to  close  what  relates  to 
political  eloquence :  if  you  have  to  speak  on  a  matter  in 
which  there  are  admitted  principles  and  authorized  prece- 
dents, study  it  well  in  its  connection  with  both,  that  you 
may  have  a  foundation  and  examples.  Then  examine  it 
in  all  its  actual  elejnents,  all  its  ramifications  and  conse- 
quences. You  will  then  easily  construct  your  plan, 
which  must  be  determined  by  the  nature  of  things,  and 
when  you  have  well  conceived  and  pondered  it,  you  will 
speak  easily,  simply,  and  effectivel3^ 

But  if  you  must  discuss  the  origin  of  society,  the  rights 
of  men  and  nations,  natural  rights  and  social  rights, 
and  other  questions  of  that  kind,  I  have  but  one  advice 
to  give  you:  begin  by  reading  on  these  questions  all  the 
systems  of  the  philosophers  and  jurists,  and  after  doing 
so,  you  will  be  so  much  in  the  dark,  and  will  find  such 
difficulty  in  arriving  at  a  rational  conviction,  that  if  you 
are  sincere  and  honest,  that  is,  unwilling  to  assert  or 
maintain  anything  except  what  you  know  or  believe,  you 
will  decline  speaking,  and  adopt  the  plan  of  keeping  si- 
lence, in  order  not  to  add  to  darkness  or  increase  the 
confusion. 

As  to  the  bar,  with  the  exception  of  the  adjustments  of 
corn  prices^  and  the  harangues  at  the  opening  of  the 

iln  France  and  some  other  countries,  as  in  England  formerly. 


88    POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING 

courts,  which  are  didactic  or  political,  and  therefore,  be- 
long to  another  class  of  speaking,^  the  addresses  or  plead- 
ings whether  by  advocates,  or  from  the  floor  of  the  court, 
are  always  business  speeches;  and  accordingly  the  plan 
of  them  is  easy,  because  it  is  pointed  out  by  the  facts, 
and  by  the  development  of  the  matter  in  litigation.  Be- 
sides, the  speaker,  in  this  description  of  discourse,  has 
his  papers  in  his  hand ;  and  a  man  must  be  truly  a  block- 
head, or  else  have  a  very  bad  cause  to  sustain,  if  he  do 
not  with  ease  keep  to  the  line  of  his  subject,  to  which 
everything  conspires  to  recall  and  guide  him.  It  is  the 
easiest  sort  of  speaking,  because  it  demands  the  least  in- 
vention, and  because  by  comparing,  however  superficially, 
the  facts  of  the  case  with  the  articles  of  the  law,  the 
reasons  for  and  against  occur  of  themselves,  according 
to  the  side  you  wish  to  espouse,  and  the  only  thing  in 
general  to  be  done  is  to  enumerate  them  with  an  ex- 
planation of  each. 

And  yet,  in  this,  as  in  everything,  good  speeches  are 
rare,  because  talent  is  rare  in  all  things;  it  is  surely 
easier  to  be  decently  successful  in  a  description  of  speak- 
ing which  comprises  a  number  of  details,  proceeds  en- 
tirely upon  facts,  and  is  constantly  supported  by  notes 
and  corroborative  documents. 

The  preparation  of  the  plan  in  addresses  of  this  na- 
ture costs,  therefore,  little  trouble.  The  character  of  the 
subject  bears  nearly  all  the  burden,  and  not  much  re- 
mains for  the  invention  or  imagination.  We  should  add 
that,  having  never  pleaded,  we  cannot  speak  in  any  way 
from  experience,  and  theory  is  hardly  of  any  use  in 
such  matters. 

government  interferes  to  settle  the  market  conditions  of  certain 
staples,  such  as  corn,  flour,  and  bread. 
1  [Not  applicable  to  the  United  States.] 


POLITICAL  AND  FORENSIC  SPEAKING     89 

The  great  difficulty  for  the  forensic  orator  is  not  to 
develop  his  matter,  or  to  discover  what  to  say,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  to  restrict  it,  to  concentrate  it,  and  to  say 
nothing  but  what  is  necessary.  Advocates  are  generally 
prolix  and  diffuse,  and  it  must  be  said  in  their  excuse, 
they  are  led  into  this  by  the  nature  of  their  subject,  and 
by  the  way  in  which  they  are  compelled  to  treat  it. 
Having  constantly  facts  to  state,  documents  to  interpret, 
contradictory  arguments  to  discuss,  they  easily  become 
lost  in  details  to  which  they  are  obliged  to  attach  great 
importance ;  and  indeed  more  or  less  subtile  discussion  on 
the  articles  of  the  law,  of  facts,  and  of  objections  oc- 
cupies a  very  large  space.  It  requires  an  exceedingly 
clear  mind  and  no  ordinary  talent,  to  avoid  being  car- 
ried along  by  the  current  of  this  too  easy  eloquence, 
which  degenerates  so  readily  into  mere  fluency.  Here, 
more  than  elsewhere,  moderation  and  sobriety  deserve 
praise,  and  the  aim  should  be,  not  to  say  a  great  deal, 
and  to  avoid  saying  too  much. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SPEAKING  FROM   THE   CHRISTIAN   PULPIT,   AND  IN 
TEACHING 

We  unite  in  our  inquiry,  so  far  as  the  preparing  of  a 
plan  is  concerned,  both  pulpit  and  professional  speaking. 
Although  there  is  a  striking  difference  between  these  two 
modes  of  speaking,  on  account  of  the  situation  of  the 
orators,  and  of  the  subjects  which  they  handle — a  differ- 
ence which  we  will  indicate  in  passing — ^yet  a  great 
analogy  subsists  between,  them,  especially  in  what  re- 
gards the  plan ;  for  they  both  aim  at  iostructing  the . 
hearers  as  their  ultimate  end — that  is,  they  aim  at  mak- 
ing the  hearers  understand  and  admit  a  truth,  at  impress- 
ing it  on  their  conviction  or  persuasion,  and  at  showing 
them  the  best  means  of  applying  it  or  putting  it  in  prac- 
tice. .-.— "—^ 

This  resemblance,  which  may  seem  paradoxical  at  first 
sight,  is  nevertheless  founded  in  nature,  if  these  several 
kinds  of  discourses  be  thoroughly  appreciated  and  con- 
sidered, as  to  the  end  which  they  have  in  view,  and  not 
merely  as  to  the  oratorical  form  or  words. 

What,  in  fact,  is  the  preacher's  grand  aim?  Whither 
must  he  tend  with  all  his  might?  What  do  the  nature 
and  the  gravity  of  his  ministry  make  incumbent  upon 
him?  Clearly,  the  religious  and  moral  instruction  of 
those  who  listen  to  him,  in  order  to  induce  them  by  a 
knowledge  and  conviction  of  the  Divine  Word,  to  observe 
it  in  their  conduct,  and  to  apply  to  their  actions  its  pre- 

90 


ON  PREACHING  AND  TEACHING     91 

cepts,  counsels,  and  inspirations.  "Wherefore,  whether  he 
expound  a  dogma,  or  morals,  or  what  relates  to  worship 
and  to  discipline,  he  always  takes  as  his  starting  point 
and  basis  some  truth,  doctrinal  or  practical,  which  he  has 
to  explain,  analyze,  unfold,  maintain,  and  elucidate.  He 
must  shed  light  by  means  of  and  around  that  truth,  that 
it  may  enter  the  hearer's  mind,  and  produce  therein  a 
clear  view,  a  conviction,  and  that  it  may  arouse  or  in- 
crease his  faith;  and  this  faith,  this  conviction,  this  en- 
lightenment must  induce  him  to  attach  himself  to  it,  to 
seize  it  through  his  volition,  and  to  realize  it  in  his  life. 

However  great  may  be,  after  that,  the  ornament  and 
pomp  of  the  style,  the  brilliancy  and  variety  of  imagery, 
the  movement  and  pathos  of  the  phrases,  the  accent  and 
the  action:  whether  he  excite  powerfully  the  imagina- 
tion, or  move  the  sensibility,  awake  the  passions,  or  cause 
the  heartstrings  to  vibrate,  all  that  is  well  and  good,  but 
only  as  accessory,  and  because  all  these  means  help  the 
end,  which  is  always  the  transmission  of  the  truth.  All 
these  things  lose,  without  the  principal  one,  their  real 
efficacy ;  or,  if  they  produce  any  effect,  it  will  neither  be 
deep  nor  lasting,  from  there  being  no  basis  to  the  speech. ; 
and  from  the  orator  having  labored  much  on  the  outside, 
and  adorned  what  appears  on  the  exterior,  will  have 
placed  and  left  nothing  inside.  In  one  word,  there  is  no 
idea  in  those  words;  only  phrases,  images  and  move- 
ments. I  know  well  that  one  can  carry  away  men  with 
these,  and  inflame  them  for  the  moment ;  but  it  is  a  blind- 
ing influence,  that  often  leads  to  evil,  or  at  least  to  an 
exaggeration  that  cannot  be  kept  up.  It  is  a  passing 
warmth  that  soon  cools  in  the  midst  of  obstacles,  and 
fades  easily  in  the  confusion  it  has  caused  through  im- 
prudence and  precipitation. 

An  idea,  or  the  absence  of  an  idea,  teaching  earnestly, 


92    ON  PREACHING  AND  TEACHING 

or  speaking  only  to  the  imagination,  convincing  the  mind 
and  persuading  volition,  or  carrying  away  the  heart  by 
the  excitation  of  sensibility — ^these  distinguish  sacred 
orators  as  well  as  others.  But  to  instruct  and  convince 
the  listener,  one  must  be  instructed  and  convinced.  To 
make  truth  pass  into  other  minds,  one  must  possess  it  in 
one  *s  own ;  and  this  can  only  be  done  both  for  oneself  and 
for  others,  independently  of  supernatural  faith,  which  is 
the  gift  of  God,  by  an  earnest  meditation  of  the  holy 
Word,  and  the  energetic  and  persevering  labor  of 
thought  applied  to  the  truth  one  wishes  to  expound,  and 
the  point  of  doctrine  one  has  to  teach.  The  same  exists 
(in  all  kinds  of  scientific  or  literary  teaching. 

It  is  evident  in  philosophy.  He  who  teaches  has  al- 
ways a  doctrine  to  expound.  Let  him  treat  of  faculties 
of  the  soul ;  of  the  operation  of  thought  and  its  method ; 
of  duties  and  rights;  of  justice;  of  what  is  good;  and 
even  of  what  is  beautiful ;  of  the  Supreme  Being ;  of  be- 
ings and  their  laws ;  of  the  finite  and  the  infinite ;  of  con- 
tingent and  necessary  matter;  of  the  relative  and  the 
absolute :  he  has  always  before  him  an  idea  to  expose,  to 
develop  and  illustrate;  and  the  acquaintance  with  this 
idea  that  he  tries  to  form  in  his  disciples  must  help  to 
make  them  better  as  well  as  more  enlightened,  or  else 
philosophy  is  no  more  worthy  of  her  name.  She  would 
neither  be  the  lover  of  wisdom  nor  its  pursuit. 

If  in  the  teaching  of  national  sciences  the  professor 
limits  himself  to  practical  experiences,  to  describe  facts 
and  phenomena,  he  will,  no  doubt,  be  able  to  amuse  and 
interest  his  listeners,  youth  particularly;  but  then  he  is 
only  a  painter,  an  experimenter,  or  an  empiric.  His  is 
natural  philosophy  in  sport,  and  his  lectures  are  a  kind 
of  show,  or  recreative  sittings.  To  be  really  a  professor 
he  must  teach,  and  he  can  only  teach  through  ideas ;  that 


ON  PREACHING  AND  TEACHING     93 

is,  by  explaining  the  laws  that  rule  facts,  and  by  connect- 
ing them  as  much  as  possible  with  the  whole  of  the  admi- 
rable system  of  the  creation.  He  must  lead  his  disciples 
up  to  the  heights  that  command  facts;  down  in  the 
depths  from  whence  spring  phenomena;  and  there  will 
only  be  science  in  his  teaching  if  he  limits  it  to  some 
heads  of  doctrine,  the  connection  of  which  constitutes 
precisely  the  science  of  which  he  is  the  master. 

He  will  then  be  able  to  follow  them  in  their  conse- 
quences, and  to  confirm  their  theory  by  applications  to 
mechanical  and  industrial  arts,  or  to  any  other  use  for 
humanity. 

The  teaching  of  letters  and  of  arts  is  in  the  same  con- 
dition: it  always  must  be  directed  by  the  exposition  of 
principles,  rules,  and  methods.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  ad- 
mire ecstatically  great  models,  and  become  enthusiastic 
for  master  works.  It  is  something  without  doubt,  when 
the  enthusiasm  is  sincere  and  the  admiration  is  truly 
felt ;  but  the  teaching  must  be  didactic ;  he  must  himself 
learn  while  he  teaches  the  secret  of  the  work;  he  must 
indicate  the  process,  and  direct  the  work.  He  must 
teach  the  pupils  to  acknowledge,  to  have  a  taste  for  what 
is  beautiful,  and  to  reproduce  it ;  and  for  that  we  must 
be  able  to  say  in  what  the  beautiful  consists  in  each  art, 
and  how  we  come  to  discern  it  in  nature,  to  preserve  or 
imagine  it  in  our  minds  while  idealizing  it,  and  to  trans- 
fer the  ideal  into  reality  by  the  resources  of  art. 

Although  here  facts  and  examples  have  more  influence, 
because  feeling  and  imagination  play  the  chief  part  in 
the  work,  yet  ideas  are  also  necessary,  and  especially  in 
literature,  poetry,  and  the  arts  of  language.  That  which 
chiefly  distinguishes  artists  and  schools  from  each  other 
is  the  predominance  of  the  idea,  or  the  predominance  of 
the  form.     The  most  beautiful  forms  in  the  world,  with- 


94    ON  PREACHING  AND  TEACHING 

out  idea,  remain  superficial,  cold,  and  dead.  The  idea 
alone  gives  life  to  any  human  production,  as  the  Divine 
ideas  vivify  the  productions  of  nature.  For  in  all  things 
the  spirit  quickeneth ;  but  the  letter,  when  alone,  killeth. 
Therefore,  he  who  teaches  literature  or  art  ought  to  have 
a  method,  a  certain  science  of  his  art,  the  principles  of 
which  he  should  expound,  by  rules  and  processes,  apply- 
ing them  practically,  and  supporting  them  with  ex- 
amples. 

Were  we  to  pass  in  review  all  kinds  of  instruction  one 
after  another,  we  should  find  the  same  end  and  the  same 
conditions  as  in  pulpit  discourse  or  in  religious  teaching ; 
"namely:  the  clear  exposition  of  "s^me  truth  for  the  in- 
struction of  the  hearer,  with  a  view  to  convince  him  and^ 
induce  him  to  act  according  to  his  conviction. 

Let  us  see,  then,  at  present  in  a  general  way,  how  we 
should  set  about  preparing  the  plan  of  a  discourse,  and 
doing  what  we  have  just  said,  whether  as  a  preacher  or 
as  a  professor.  We  shall  here  speak  from  experience, 
a  circumstance  which  gives  us  some  confidence,  because 
we  are  about  to  expound  with  simplicity  what  we  have 
been  accustomed  to  do  for  nearly  forty  years  in  teaching 
philosophy,  and  what  we  still  do,  and  desire  to  do  while 
any  strength  and  energy  remain,  in  the  pulpit. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DETERMINATION  OP  THE  SUBJECT  AND  CONCEPTION  OF  THE 
IDEA  OP  THE  DISCOURSE 

[e  who  wishes  to  speak  in  public  must,  above  all,  see 

clearly  on  what  he  has  to  speak,  and  rightly  conceive 

Vwhat  he  has  to  say.     The  precise  determination  of  the 

subject,  and  the  idea  of  the  discourse — ^these  are  the  two 

first  stages  of  the  preparation. 

It  is  not  so  easy  as  it  seems  to  know  upon  what  one  is 
to  speak:  many  orators,  at  least,  seem  to  be  ignorant  of 
it,  or  to  forget  it,  in  the  course  of  their  address;  for  it 
is  sometimes  their  case  to  speak  of  all  things  except  those 
which  would  best  relate  to  the  occasion.  This  exact  de- 
termination of  the  subject  is  still  more  needful  in  ex- 
temporization; for  there  many  more  chances  of  dis- 
cursiveness exist.  The  address  not  being  sustained  by 
the  memory  or  by  notes,  the  mind  is  more  exposed  to  the 
influences  of  the  moment;  and  nothing  is  required  but 
the  failure  or  inexactitude  of  a  word,  the  suggestion  of  a 
new  thought,  a  little  inattention,  to  lure  it  from  the  sub- 
ject, and  throw  it  into  some  crossroad,  which  takes  it  far 
away.  Add  the  necessity  of  continuing,  when  once  a 
speech  is  begun,  because  to  stop  is  embarrassing ;  to  with- 
LW,  a  disgrace. 

Therefore,  in  order  to  lead  and  sustain  the  progress 

|f  a  discourse,  one  must  clearly  know  whence  one  starts, 

whither  one  goes,  and  never  lose  sight  of  either  the 

^^int  of  departure  or  the  destination.    But,  to  effect  this, 

95 


96  THE  SUBJECT  AND  ITS  POINT 

the  road  must  be  measured  beforehand,  and  the  principal 
distance  marks  must  have  been  placed.  There  is  a  risk 
else  of  losing  one's  way,  and  then,  either  one  arrives  at 
no  end,  even  after  much  fatigue,  productive  of  inter- 
minable discourses  leading  to  nothing — or  if  one  at  last 
reaches  the  destination,  it  is  after  an  infinity  of  turns 
and  circuits,  which  have  wearied  the  hearer  as  well  as 
the  speaker,  without  profit  or  pleasure  for  anybody. 

The  determination  of  the  subject  ought  not  to  fix 
merely  tlje  point  upon  which  one  has  to  speak,  but  fur- 
ther the  radiation  of  this  point  and  the  circumference 
which  it  will  embrace.  The  circle  clearly  may  be  more 
or  less  extensive,  for  all  things  are  connected  in  the  world 
of  ideas,  even  more  than  in  that  of  bodies,  and  as,  in  fine, 
all  is  in  each,  you  may  speak  of  everything  in  connection 
with  anything,  and  this  is  what  too  often  befalls  those 
who  extemporize. 

Then  the  discourse  leads  the  mind,  not  the  mind  the 
discourse.  It  is  a  ship  which  falls  away  for  want  of  a 
helm,  and  he  who  is  within,  unable  to  control  her,  aban- 
dons himself  to  the  current  of  the  stream,  at  the  risk  of 
wrecking  himself  upon  the  first  breaker,  and  not  knowing 
where  he  shall  touch  the  shore. 

It  is  but  wise,  then,  not  to  begin  a  speech  without  hav- 
ing at  least  by  a  rapid  general  view,  if  there  be  no  time 
to  prepare  a  plan,  decided  the  main  line  of  the  discourse, 
and  sketched  in  the  mind  an  outline  of  its  most  promi- 
nent features.  In  this  precepts  are  not  of  great  use; 
good  sense,  tact,  and  a  clear  and  lively  intelligence  are 
requisite  to  seize  exactly  the  point  in  question  and  to 
hold  to  it;  and  for  this  end  nothing  is  better  than  to 
formularize  it  at  once  by  some  expression,  some  proposi- 
tion, which  may  serve  to  reduce  the  subject  to  its  simplest 
shape,  and  to  determine  its  proportions. 


THE  SUBJECT  AND  ITS  POINT  97 

A  question  well  stated  is  half  solved.     In  like  manner 
a  subject  well  fixed  admits  of  easier  treatment,   and 
singularly  facilitates  the  discourse.     As  to  the  rest,  the 
occasion,  the  circumstances,  and  the  nature  of  the  subject, 
do  much  in  the  same  direction.     There  are  cases  in  which 
the  subject  determines  itself  by  the  necessity  of  the  situa- 
tion and  the  force  of  things.     The  case  is  more  em- 
barrassing when  the  speaker  is  master  of  circumstances, 
as  in  teaching,  where  he  may  distribute  his  materials  at 
his  pleasure,  and  design  each  lesson 's  part.     In  any  case, 
and  howsoever  he  sets  to  work,  each  discourse  must  have 
its  own  unity,  and  constitute  a  whole,  in  order  that  the 
hearer  may  embrace  in  his  understanding  what  has  been 
said  to  him,  may  conceive  it  in  his  own  fashion,  and  be 
^^^ble  to  reproduce  it  at  need. 
\    ^^   But  the  general  view  of  the  subject,  and  the  formula 
^    ^)  which  gives  it  precision,  are  not  enough ;  the  idea  of  it, 
the  living  idea,  the  parent  idea,  which  is  the  source  of 
1^,   the  life  in  a  discourse,  and  without  which  the  words  will 
be  but  a  dead  letter,  must  be  obtained. 

What  is  this  parent  idea,  and  how  do  we  obtain  it  ? 

In  the  physical  world,  whatever  has  life  comes  from  a 
germ,  and  this  germ,  previously  contained  in  another 
living  existence,  there  takes  life  itself,  and  on  its  own 
account,  by  the  process  of  fecundation.  Fecundated,  it 
quits  its  focus ;  punctiim  saliens,  it  radiates  and  tends  to 
develop  itself  by  reason  of  the  primordial  life  which 
it  bears  within  it,  and  of  the  nurture  it  receives;  then 
by  gradual  evolution,  it  acquires  organic  form,  consti- 
tuted existence,  individuality,  and  body. 

It  is  the  same  in  the  intellectual  world,  and  in  all  the 
productions  of  our  mind,  and  by  our  mind  outside  of  it- 
self, through  language  and  discourse.  There  are  in  our 
understanding  germs  of  mental  existences,  and  when  they 


98  THE  SUBJECT  AND  ITS  POINT 

are  evoked  by  a  mind  which  is  of  their  own  nature,  they 
take  life,  become  developed  and  organized,  first  in  the 
depth  of  the  understanding  which  is  their  brooding  re- 
ceptacle, and  finally  passing  into  the  outer  world  by  that 
speech  which  gives  them  a  body,  they  become  incarnate 
there,  so  to  speak,  and  form  living  productions,  instinct 
with  more  or  less  of  life  by  reason  of  their  fecundated 
germ,  of  the  understanding  which  begets  them,  and  of 
the  mind  which  vivifies  them. 
y^  In  every  discourse,  if  it  have  life,  there  is  a  parent 

^idea  or  fertile  germ,  and  all  the  parts  of  the  discourse 
are  like  the  principal  organs  and  the  members  of  an  ani- 
mated body.  The  propositions,  expressions,  and  words 
resemble  those  secondary  organs  which  connect  the  prin- 
cipal as  the  nerves,  muscles,  vessels,  tissues,  attaching 
them  to  one  another  and  rendering  them  co-partners  in 
life  and  death.  Then  amid  this  animate  and  organic 
mass  there  is  the  spirit  of  life,  which  is  in  the  blood,  and 
is  everywhere  diffused  with  the  blood  from  the  heart, 
life's  center,  to  the  epidermis.  So  in  eloquence,  there  is 
the  spirit  of  the  words,  the  soul  of  the  orator,  inspired 
by  the  subject,  his  intelligence  illumined  with  mental 
light,  which  circulates  through  the  whole  body  of  the  dis- 
course, and  pours  therein  brightness,  heat,  and  life.  A 
discourse  without  a  parent  idea  is  a  stream  without  a 
fountain,  a  plant  without  a  root,  a  body  without  a  soul ; 
empty  phrases,  sounds  which  beat  the  air,  or  a  tinkling 
cymbal. 

Nevertheless,  let  us  not  be  misapprehended ;  if  we  say 
that  a  discourse  requires  a  parent  idea,  we  do  not  mean 
that  this  idea  must  be  ^.new  one,  never  before  conceived 
or  developed  by  any  one.  Were  this  so,  no  more  orators 
would  be  possible,  since  already,  from  Solomon's  day, 
there  has  been  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  and  the  cycle 


THE  SUBJECT  AND  ITS  POINT  99 

of  ages  continually  brings  back  the  same  things  under 
different  forms. 

It  is  not  likely,  then,  that  in  our  day  there  should  be 
more  new  ideas  than  in  that  of  the  King  of  Israel ;  but 
ideas,  like  all  the  existences  of  this  world,  are  renewed  in 
each  age,  and  for  each  generation.  They  are  repro- 
duced under  varied  forms  and  with  modifications  of  cir- 
cumstances: "Non  nova  sed  nove,"  said  Vincent  of 
Lerins.  The  same  things  are  differently  manifested; 
and  thus  they  adapt  themselves  to  the  wants  of  men, 
which  change  with  time  and  place. 

For  this  reason  the  orator  may,  and  should  say,  an- 
cient things,  in  substance;  but  he  will  say  them  in  an- 
other manner,  corresponding  with  the  dispositions  of  the 
men  of  his  epoch,  and  he  will  add  the  originality  of  his 
individual  conception  and  expression. 

For  this  purpose,  in  all  the  rigor  of  the  word  he  should 
conceive  his  sijbject,  ia.i)xder  to  have  the  idea  of  it;  this 
T3ea  must  be  bom  in  him,  and  grow,  and  be  organized  in 
a  living  manner;  and  as  there  is  no  conception  without 
fecundation,  this  mental  fecundation  must  come  to  him 
from  without,  either  spontaneously,  or,  at  least,  in  an  in- 
visible manner,  as  in  the  inspirations  and  illuminations 
of  genius — or,  what  oftener  happens,  by  means  of  the  at- 
tentive consideration  of  the  subject  and  meditation  upon 
the  thoughts  of  others. 

In  any  case,  whatever  be  the  fashion  of  the  under- 
standing's fecundation,  and  from  whatever  quarter  light 
comes  to  it — and  light  is  the  life  of  the  mind — he  must 
absolutely  conceive  the  idea  of  what  he  shall  say,  if  he 
is  to  say  anything  fraught  with  life,  and  now  new  but 
original — ^that  is,  engendered,  born  in  his  mind,  and  bear- 
ing the  character  of  it.  His  thoughts  will  then  be  proper 
to  him  (his  own)  by  virtue  of  their  production,  and  de- 


100  THE  SUBJECT  AND  ITS  POINT 

spite  their  resemblance  to  others — as  children  belong  to 
their  mother,  notwithstanding  their  likeness  to  all  the 
members  of  the  human  race.  But  they  all  and  each 
possess  something  new  for  the  family  and  generation  in 
which  they  are  to  live.  It  is  all  we  would  say  when  we 
require  of  him  who  has  to  speak  in  public,  that  he  should 
have,  at  least,  an  idea  to  expound,  sprung  mentally,  if  we 
may  so  say,  from  his  loins,  and  produced  alive  in  the  in- 
tellectual world  by  his  words,  as  in  the  physical  order  a 
child  by  its  mother.  This  simply  means,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  common  sense,  that  the  orator  should  have  a 
clear  conception  of  what  he  would  say. 


CHAPTER  X 

CONCEPTION    OF    THE    SUBJECT — DIRECT    METHOD 

How  ensure  a  good  conception  of  your  subject?  There 
are  two  ways.or  methods ;  the  one  direct,  which  is  always 
the  iDest  when  you_can^take  it ;  the  other  indirect,  longer 
and  less  certain,  but  more  accessible  to  beginners,  more 
within  reach  of  ordinary  minds,  and  serving  to  form 
them^  You  may  indeed  use  both  ways;  either  coming 
back  the  second  way,  when  you  have  gone  out  by  the 
first,  or  beginning  with  the  easiest,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
the  most  arduous. 

The  n^ain  way,  or  that  which  by  preeminence  deserves 
the  designation,  consists  in  placing  yourself  immediately 
in  relation  with  the  object  about  which  you  have  to 
^peak,  so  as  to  consider^  it  face  to  face,  looking  clean 
through  it  with  the  mindV^yej^while  you  are  yourself 
irradiated  with  the  light  which  the  Object  gives  forth. 

In  this  crossing  of  rays,  and  by  means  of  their  inter- 
penetration,  a  conception,  representing  that  object  which 
begets  it,  is  produced  in  the  understanding,  and  partakes 
of  the  nature  of  that  in  which  it  is  formed,  and  which 
contains  it. 

In  this  case  a  fecundation  of  the  mind,  or  subject,  is 
affected  by  the  object,  and  the  result  is  the  idea  of  the 
object,  begotten  and  brought  into  a  living  state  in  the 
understanding  by  its  own  force.  This  idea  is  always 
in  the  ratio  of  the  two  factors  or  causes  which  combine 

101 


102         CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

to  call  it  forth,  of  their  relation  to  each  other,  and  of 
the  success  with  which  the  union  is  effected. 

If  the  mind  be  simple,  unwarped,  pure,  greedy  of 
knowledge,  and  eager  after  truth — when  it  places  itself 
before  the  object  fully,  considers  it  generally,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  opens  itself  unreservedly  to  its  light 
with  a  wish  to  be  penetrated  by  it,  and  to  penetrate  it, 
to  become  united  to  it  with  all  its  strength  and  capacity ; 
and  if,  further,  it  have  the  energy  and  persistency  to 
maintain  itself  in  this  attitude  of  attention  without  dis- 
traction, and  collecting  all  its  faculties,  concentrating 
all  its  lights,  it  makes  them  converge  upon  this  single 
point,  and  becomes  wholly  absorbed  in  the  union  which 
thus  ensures  intellectual  fecundity,  the  conception  then 
takes  place  after  a  normal  and  a  plenary  fashion.  The 
very  life  of  the  object,  or  thing  contemplated,  passes 
with  its  light  into  the  subject  or  mind  contemplating, 
and  from  the  life-endowed  mental  germ  springs  the 
IDEA,  at  first  weak  and  darkling,  like  whatever  is  newly- 
begotten,  but  growing  afterwards  by  the  labor  of  the 
mind  and  by  nutrition.  It  will  become  gradually  or- 
ganized, full-grown,  and  complete;  as  soon  as  its  con- 
stitution is  strong  enough  to  emerge  from  the  under- 
standing, it  will  seek  the  birth  of  words,  in  order  to  un- 
fold to  the  world  the  treasures  of  truth  and  life  which 
it  contains  within  it. 

But  if  it  be  only  examined  obliquely,  under  an  inci- 
dental or  restricted  aspect,  the  result  will  be  a  conception 
analogous  to  the  connection  which  produces  it,  and  con- 
sequently an  idea  of  the  object,  possessing  perhaps  some 
truth  and  some  life,  but  representing  the  object  only  in 
one  phase,  only  in  part,  and  thus  leading  to  a  narrow 
and  inadequate  knowledge. 

It  is  clear  that  as  it  is  in  the  physical,  so  in  the  moral 


CONCEPTION  OP  THE  SUBJECT  103 

world.  Knowledge  is  formed  by  the  same  laws  as  ex- 
istence, the  knowledge  of  metaphysical  like  that  of  sen- 
sible things,  although  these  differ  essentially  in  their  na- 
ture and  in  their  limits.  The  laws  by  which  life  is 
transmitted  are  those  by  which  thought  is  transmitted, 
which  is,  after  its  own  fashion,  conceived  and  generated ; 
a  fact  arising  from  the  application  to  the  production  of 
all  living  beings  of  the  eternal  law  of  the  Divine  gen- 
eration, by  which  the  Being  of  beings,  the  Principle  of 
life,  Who  is  life  itself,  engenders  in  Himself  His  image 
or  His  Word,  by  the  knowledge  which  he  has  eternally 
of  Himself,  and  by  the  love  of  His  own  perfection  which 
he  contemplates. 

Thus  with  the  human  mind,  which  is  made  in  the 
image  of  God,  and  which  reproduces  a  likeness  of  it 
in  all  its  operations ;  the  knowledge  of  a  human  mind  is 
also  a  sort  of  generation.  It  has  no  knowledge  of  sen- 
sible things,  except  through  the  images  which  they  pro- 
duce in  the  understanding,  and  that  such  images  should 
arise,  it  is  requisite  that  the  understanding  be  pene- 
trated by  the  impressions  of  objects,  through  the  senses 
and  their  organs.  Hence  appearances,  images,  ideas, 
or  to  speak  more  philosophically,  conceptions  of  exterior 
things,  which  are  not  only  the  raw  material  of  knowl- 
edge, but  the  principles  more  or  less  pregnant  of  the 
sciences  of  nature,  according  as  they  may  have  been 
formed  in  the  mind.  This  accounts  in  part  for  the 
power  of  first  impressions,  the  virtue  of  the  first  aspect, 
or  of  the  primary  meeting  of  the  '^subject''  and  object. 

Now  we  have  intelligible  and  spiritual,  as  well  as  ma- 
terial and  sensible,  existences  around  us.  We  live  by 
our  mind  and  by  its  intercourse  with  that  of  our  fellow 
creatures  in  a  moral  world,  which  is  realized  and  per- 
petuated by  speech  and  in  language,  as  physical  exist- 


104         CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

ences  are  fixed  in  the  soil,  and  from  the  soil  developed. 
The  language  spoken  by  a  human  community,  and  con- 
stituting the  depository,  the  magazine  of  the  thoughts, 
ideas,  and  knowledge  of  that  community,  forms  a  true 
world  of  minds,  a  sphere  of  intellectual  existences,  hav- 
ing its  own  life,  light,  and  laws. 

Now  it  is  with  these  subtile  and,  as  it  were,  ethereal 
existences,  which  are  condensed  in  words,  like  vapor  in 
clouds — ^it  is  with  these  metaphysical  realities  that  our 
mind  must  come  into  contact,  in  order  by  them  to  be 
fecundated,  without  other  medium  than  the  signs  which 
express  them,  and  in  order  to  conceive  the  ideas  which 
science  has  to  develop  by  analysis,  and  which  the 
speaker  will  unfold  in  his  discourse,  so  as  to  bring  home 
their  truth  to  those  who  are  ignorant  of  it.  Anybody 
must  feel  how  difficult  it  is  to  hold  communion  by  the 
sight  of  the  mind  with  things  so  delicate,  so  evanescent, 
things  which  cannot  be  seized  except  by  their  nebulous 
and  ever  shifting  dress  of  language ;  and  how  much  more 
difficult  it  is  to  persist  long  in  this  contemplation,  and 
how  soon  the  intelligence  gets  fatigued  of  pursuing  ob- 
jects so  scarcely  tangible,  objects  escaping  its  grasp  on 
all  sides.  In  truth  it  is  only  a  very  rare  and  choice  class 
of  minds  which  know  how  to  look  directly,  fixedly,  and 
perseveringly  at  objects  of  pure  intelligibility.  For  the 
same  reason  these  have  greater  fecundity,  because  enter- 
ing into  a  close  union  with  the  objects  of  their  thought, 
and  becoming  thoroughly  penetrated  by  them,  they  take 
in  the  very  nature  and  vitality  of  things,  with  the  light 
which  they  emit. 

These  are  the  minds,  moreover,  that  conceive  ideas  and 
think  for  the  rest  of  mankind  whose  torches  and  guides 
they  are  in  the  intellectual  world;  and  as  their  words, 
the  vehicle  of  their  conceptions  and  thoughts,  are  em- 


CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT  105 

ployed  during  instruction  in  reproducing,  that  is,  in 
engendering  within  the  minds  of  their  fellow-creatures 
the  ideas  which  the  light  of  the  things  themselves  has 
produced  in  their  own,  they  are  called  men  of  genius, 
that  is,  generators  by  intelligence,  or  transmitters  by 
means  of  language,  of  the  light  and  life  of  the  mind. 

This  consideration  brings  us  to  the  second  way  or 
method  by  which  feebler  intellects,  or  such  as  have  talent 
without  having  genius,  may  also  succeed  in  conceiving 
the  idea  of  the  subject  upon  which  they  are  about  to 
speak. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONCEPTION    OF    THE    SUBJECT — INDIRECT    METHOD 

Those  who  have  to  treat  a  subject  which  has  not  been 
treated  before  are  obliged  to  draw  from  a  consideration 
of  the  subject,  and  from  their  own  resources,  all  they 
have  to  say.  Then,  according  to  their  genius  and  their 
penetration,  and  in  proportion  to  the  manner  in  which 
they  put  themselves  in  presence  of  the  things,  will  their 
discourse  evince  more  or  less  truth,  exactitude,  and 
depth.  They  are  sure  to  be  original,  since  they  are  the 
first  comers — and,  in  general,  the  first  view,  which  is  not 
influenced  by  any  prejudice  or  bias,  but  which  arises 
from  the  natural  impression  of  the  object  upon  the  soul, 
produces  clear  and  profound  ideas,  which  remain  in  the 
kingdom  of  science  or  of  art  as  common  property,  and  a 
sort  of  patrimony  for  those  who  come  later.  Afterwards, 
when  the  w^ay  is  opened,  and  many  have  trodden  it, 
leaving  their  traces  behind  them,  when  a  subject  has  been 
discussed  at  various  times  and  among  several  circles,  it 
is  hard  to  be  original,  in  the  strict  sense,  upon  that  topic ; 
that  is,  to  have  new  thoughts — thoughts  not  expressed  be- 
fore. But  it  is  both  possible  and  incumbent  to  have  that 
other  species  of  originality,  which  consists  in  putting 
forth  no  ideas  except  such  as  one  has  made  one's  own  by 
a  conception  of  one's  ovv^n,  and  are  thus  quickened  with 
the  life  of  one's  own  mind.  This  is  called  taking  pos- 
session in  the  finder's  name;  and  Moliere,  when  he  imi- 
tated Plautus  and  Terence;  La  Fontaine,  when  he  bor- 

106 


CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT  107 

rowed  from  ^sop  and  Phsednis,  were  not  ashamed  of 
the  practice.  This  condition  is  indispensable,  if  life  is 
to  be  imparted  to  the  discourse;  and  it  is  this  which  dis- 
tin^ishes  the  orator,  who  draws  on  his  own  interior  re- 
sources even  when  he  borrows,  from  the  actor  who  imper- 
sonates, or  the  reader  who  recites  the  productions  of 
another. 

In  such  a  case  the  problem  stands  therefore: — When 
you  have  to  speak  on  a  subject  already  treated  by  several 
authors,  you  must  carefully  cuU  their  justest  and  most 
striking  thoughts,  analyze  and  sift  these  with  critical  dis- 
cernment and  penetration,  then  fuse  them  in  your  own 
alembic  by  a  powerful  synthetic  operation,  which,  re- 
jecting whatever  is  heterogeneous,  collects  and  kneads 
whatever  is  homogeneous  or  amalgamable,  and  fashions 
forth  a  complex  idea  that  shall  assume  consistency,  unity, 
and  color  in  the  understanding  by  the  very  heat  of  the 
mind 's  labor. 

If  we  may  compare  things  spiritual  with  things  ma- 
terial— and  we  always  may,  since  they  are  governed  by 
the  same  laws,  and  hence  their  analogy — ^we  would  say 
that,  in  the  formation  of  an  idea  by  this  method,  some- 
thing occurs  similar  to  what  is  observed  in  the  produc- 
tion of  the  ceramic  or  modeler's  art,  composed  of  various 
elements,  earths,  salts,  metals,  alkalies,  acids,  and  the 
rest,  which,  when  suitably  separated,  sifted,  purified,  are 
first  united  into  one  compound,  then  kneaded,  shaped, 
molded,  or  turned,  and  finally  subjected  to  the  action  of 
the  fire  which  combines  them  in  unity,  and  gives  to  the 
whole  solidity  and  splendor. 

Thus,  the  orator  who  speaks  after  many  others,  and 
must  treat  the  same  topic,  ought  first  to  endeavor  to- 
make  himself  acquainted  with  all  that  has  been  written 
on  the  subject,  in  order  to~  extract  from  the  mass  the 


108  CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

thoughts  which  best  serve  his  end ;  he  ought  then  to  col- 
lect and  fuse  within  his  own  thought  the  lights  emitted 
by  other  minds,  gather  and  converge  upon  a  single  point 
the  rays  of  those  various  luminaries. 

He  cannot  shirk  this  labor,  if  he  would  treat  his  sub- 
ject with  fullness  and  profundity ;  in  a  word,  if  he  is  in 
earnest  with  his  business,  which  is  to  seek  truth,  and  to 
make  it  known.  Like  every  true  artist,  he  has  an  in- 
tuition of  the  ideal,  and  to  that  ideal  he  is  impelled  by 
the  divine  instinct  of  his  intelligence  to  lift  his  con- 
ceptions and  his  thoughts,  in  order  to  produce,  first  in 
himself  and  then  upon  others,  by  speaking  or  by  what- 
ever is  his  vehicle  of  expression,  something  which  shall 
forever  tend  towards  it,  without  ever  attaining  it. 
For  ideas,  properly  so  called,  being  the  very  conceptions 
of  the  Supreme  Mind,  the  eternal  archetypes  after  which 
all  created  things  have  been  modeled  with  all  their 
powers,  the  human  mind,  made  after  the  image  of  the 
Creator,  yet  always  finite,  whatever  its  force  or  its  light, 
can  catch  but  glimpses  of  them  here  below,  and  will 
always  be  incapable  of  conceiving  and  of  reproducing 
them  in  their  immensity  and  infinitude. 

However,  care  must  be  taken  here  not  to  allow  oneself 
to  be  carried  away  by  too  soaring  a  train  of  considera- 
tions, or  into  too  vast  a  field ;  all  is  linked  with  all,  and  in 
things  of  a  higher  world  this  is  more  especially  the  case, 
for  there  you  are  in  the  realm  of  sovereign  unity,  and 
universality.  A  philosopher,  meditating  and  writing, 
may  give  wings  to  his  contemplation,  and  his  flight  will 
never  be  too  lofty  nor  too  vigorous,  provided  his  intelli- 
gence be  illumined  with  the  true  light,  and  guided  in  the 
right  path;  but  the  speaker  generally  stands  before  an 
audience  who  are  not  on  his  own  level,  and  whom  he 
must  take  at  theirs.    Again,  he  speaks  in  a  given  state 


CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT  109 

of  things,  with  a  view  to  some  immediate  effect,  some 
definite  end.  His  topic  is  restricted  by  these  conditions, 
and  his  manner  of  treating  it  must  be  subordinated  to 
them,  his  discourse  adapted  to  them.  It  is  no  business 
of  his  to  say  all  that  might  be  said,  but  merely  what  is 
necessary  or  useful  in  the  actual  case,  in  order  to  en- 
lighten his  hearers,  and  to  persuade  them.  He  must, 
therefore,  circumscribe  his  matter  within  the  limits  of 
his  purpose;  and  his  discourse  must  have  just  that  ex- 
tent, that  elevation,  and  discretion  which  the  special  cir- 
cumstances demand. 

It  is  with  this  aim  that  the  orator  ought  to  prepare  his 
materials,  and  lay  in,  as  it  were,  the  provisions  for  his 
discourse. 

First,  as  we  have  said,  he  must  collect  the  ingredients 
of  his  compost.  Then  he  will  do  what  the  bee  does, 
which  rifles  the  flowers — exactly  what  the  bee  does ;  for, 
by  an  admirable  instinct  which  never  misleads  it,  it  ex- 
tracts from  the  cup  of  the  flowers  only  what  serves  to 
form  the  wax  and  the  honey,  the  aromatic  and  the 
oleaginous  particles.  But,  be  it  well  observed,  the  bee 
first  nourishes  itself  with  these  extracts,  digests  them, 
transmutes  them,  and  turns  them  into  wax  and  honey 
solely  by  an  operation  of  absorption  and  assimilation. 

Just  so  should  the  speaker  do.  Before  him  lie  the 
fields  of  science  and  of  literature,  rich  in  each  description 
of  flower  and  fruit — every  hue,  every  flavor.  In  these 
fields  he  will  seek  his  booty,  but  with  discernment;  and 
choosing  only  what  suits  his  work,  he  will  extract  from 
it,  by  thought fiol  reading  and  by  the  process  of  mental 
tasting  (his  thoughts  all  absorbed  in  his  topic,  and  dart- 
ing at  once  upon  whatever  relates  to  it),  everything 
which  can  minister  nutriment  to  his  intelligence,  or  fill 
it,  or  even  perfume  it ;  in  a  word,  the  substantial  or  aro- 


110 


CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 


matic  elements  of  his  honey,  or  idea,  but  ever  so  as  to 
take  in  and  to  digest,  like  the  bee,  in  order  that  there 
may  be  a  real  transformation  and  appropriation,  and 
consequently  a  production  fraught  with  life,  and  to  live. 

The  way  in  which  he  should  set  to  work,  or  at  least  the 
way  in  which  we  have  ourselyes  proceeded  under  similar 
circumstances,  and  with  good  results,  is  this. 

[We  hope  we  shall  be  forgiven  for  these  details  of  the 
interior,  these  private  managements  of  an  orator;  we 
think  them  more  useful  to  show  how  to  contrive  than  the 
didactics  of  teaching  would  be ;  they  are  the  contrivances 
of  the  craft,  secrets  of  the  workshop.  Besides,  we  are 
not  writing  for  adepts,  but  for  novices;  and  these  will 
be  better  helped  by  practical  advice,  and  by  the  results 
of  positive  experience,  than  by  general  rules  or  by  specu- 
lations.] 

Above  all,  then,  you  must  decide  with  the  utmost 
clearness  what  it  is  you  are  goinfftoispeak_upon.  "M^y^^ 
orators  are  too  "vague  *m-this7^  and  it  is  an  original^.^if!^''''*'^ 
which  makes  itself  felt  in  their  whole  labor,  and,  later, 
in  their  audience.  Nothing  is  worse  than  vagueness  in  a 
discourse ;  it^  producfis.jCibscurity,  diffifsene^^rigmarole, 
and  wearisomeness.  The  heaJer  does"not"'cling  to  a 
speaker  1vKo*tSlks_withQUt  knowing  what  he  wouTdns^y, 
and  who,  undertaking  to  guide  him,  stems  to  he  ignorant 
whither  he  is  going. 

The  topic  once  well  settled,  the  point  to  be  treated 
once  well  defined,  you  know  where  to  go  for  help.  You 
ask  for  the  most  approved  writers  on  that  point;  you 
get  together  their  works,  and  begin  to  read  them  with 
attention,  pausing,  above  all,  upon  the  chapters  and 
passages  which  specially  concern  the  matter  in  question. 

Always  read  pen  or  pencil  in  hand.  Mark  the  parts 
which  most  strike  you,  those  in  which  you  perceive  the 


CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT  111 

germ  of  an  idea  or  of  anything  new  to  you ;  then,  when 
you  have  finished  your  reading,  make  a  note,  let  it  be  a 
substantial  note,  not  a  mere  transcription  or  extract — a 
note  embodying  the  very  thought  which  you  have  appre- 
hended, and  which  you  have  already  made  your  own  by 
digestion  and  assimilation. 

Above  all,  let  these  notes  be  short  and  lucid ;  put  them 
down  one  under  the  other,  so  that  you  may  afterwards 
be  able  to  run  over  them  at  a  single  view. 

Mistrust  long  readings  from  which  you  carry  nothing 
away.  Our  mind  is  naturally  so  lazy,  the  labor  of 
thought  is  so  irksome  to  it,  that  it  gladly  yields  to  the 
pleasure  of  reading  other  people's  thoughts,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  trouble  of  forming  any  itself;  and  then  time 
passes  in  endless  readings,  the  pretext  of  which  is  some 
hunt  after  materials,  and  which  comes  to  nothing.  The 
mind  ruins  its  own  sap,  and  gets  burdened  with  trash: 
it  is  as  though  overladen  with  undigested  food,  which 
gives  it  neither  force  nor  light. 

Quit  not  a  book  until  you  have  wrested  from  it  what- 
ever relates  the  most  closely  to  your  subject.  Not  till 
then  go  on  to  another,  and  get  the  cream  off,  if  I  may  so 
express  myself,  in  the  same  manner. 

Repeat  this  labor  with  several,  until  you  find  that  the 
same  things  are  beginning  to  return,  or  nearly  so,  and 
that  there  is  nothing  to  gain  in  the  plunder ;  or  suppose 
that  you  feel  your  understanding  to  be  sufiiciently  fur- 
nished, and  that  your  mind  now  requires  to  digest  the 
nutriment  which  it  has  taken. 

Rest  awhile,  in  order  to  let  the  intellectual  digestion 
operate.  Then,  when  these  various  aliments  begin  to  be 
transformed,  interpenetrated,  comes  the  labor  of  the 
desk,  which  will  extract  from  the  mass  of  nourishment 
its  very  juices,  distribute  them  everywhere,  and  will  con- 


112  CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

tribute  to  form,  from  diversity  of  products,  unity  of 
life. 

It  is  with  the  mind  as  Y'^ith  the  body;  after  nourish- 
ment and  repose,  it  requires  to  act  and  to  transmit. 
"When  it  has  repaired  its  strength,  it  must  exert  it ;  when 
it  has  received  it,  it  must  give ;  after  having  concentrated 
itself,  it  needs  dilation;  it  must  yield  back  what  it  has 
absorbed ;  fullness  unrelieved  is  as  painful  to  it  as  inani- 
tion. These  are  the  two  vital  movements — attraction 
and  expansion. 

The  moment  this  fullness  is  felt,  the  moment  of  acting 
or  thinking  for  yourself  has  arrived. 

You  take  up  your  notes  and  you  carefully  re-read 
them  face  to  face  with  the  topic  to  be  treated.  You  blot 
out  such  as  diverge  from  it  too  much,  or  are  not  suf- 
ficiently substantial,  and  by  this  elimination  you  gradu- 
ally concentrate  and  compress  the  thoughts  which  have 
the  greatest  reciprocal  bearing.  You  work  these  a  longer 
or  a  shorter  time  in  your  understanding,  as  in  a  crucible, 
by  the  inner  fire  of  reflection,  and,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  they  end  by  amalgamating  and  fusing  into  one  an- 
other, until  they  form  a  homogeneous  mass,  which  is  re- 
duced, like  the  metallic  particles  in  incandescence,  by 
the  persistent  hammering  of  thought  into  a  dense  and 
solid  oneness. 

As  soon  as  you  become  conscious  of  this  unity,  you 
obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  essential  idea  of  the  composition, 
and  in  that  essential  idea,  the  leading  ideas  which  will 
distribute  your  topic,  and  which  already  appear  like  the 
first  organic  lineaments  of  the  discourse. 

In  the  case  supposed,  the  idea  forms  itself  syntheti- 
cally, or  by  a  sort  of  intellectual  coagulation,  which  is 
fraught  with  life,  because  there  is  really  a  crossing  or 
interpenetration  of  various  thoughts  in  one  single  mind, 


CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT  113 

which  has  assimilated  them  to  one  another  only  by  first 
assimilating  them  to  itself.  They  take  life  in  its  life 
which  unifies  them,  and  although  the  idea  be  thus  com- 
pounded of  a  multiplicity  of  elements,  nevertheless  as 
these  elements  have  been  transformed  into  that  one 
mind's  own  thought,  they  become  harmonized  therein, 
and  constitute  a  new  production  endowed  by  the  under- 
standing in  which  it  is  called  forth,  with  something  in- 
dividualizing and  original. 

However,  a  different  result  sometimes  occurs,  and  this 
happens  particularly  in  the  most  stirring  and  fertile  in- 
tellects. The  perusal  of  other  men's  thoughts,  and  the 
meditation  thus  excited,  becomes  for  them  not  the  ef- 
ficient cause,  but  the  occasion,  of  the  requisite  idea,  which 
springs  into  birth  by  a  sudden  illumination,  in  the  midst 
of  their  mental  labor  over  other  people's  ideas,  as  the 
spark  darts  from  the  flint  when  stricken  by  steel. 

It  is  a  mixed  method  between  the  direct,  which  is  that 
of  nature,  and  the  indirect  which  we  have  been  describ-. 
ing.  It  partakes  of  the  former,  because  there  is  in  it  a 
kind  of  generation  of  the  idea  which  is  instantaneously 
effected;  but  it  is  a  generation  less  instinct  with  life, 
and,  as  it  were,  at  second  hand;  for  it  is  not  formed  in 
the  mind  by  the  action  of  the  thing  itself,  but  by  its 
image  or  reflection  in  a  human  expression.  It  partakes 
of  the  second  method,  because  the  birth  of  the  idea  is 
brought  about  by  reading  and  meditation. 

The  idea  which  is  its  offspring,  though  inferior  to  that 
engendered  by  the  object  itself,  is  more  natural,  and, 
therefore,  more  living  than  that  produced  by  synthesis; 
simpler,  more  one,  more  original ;  it  is  more  racy  of  the 
mind,  which  has  conceived  it  at  one  effort,  and  from 
which  it  springs  full  of  life,  as  Minerva  in  the  fable 
sprang  fuU-armed  from  the  head  of  Jupiter  cleft  by  Vul- 


114         CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SUBJECT 

can's  hatchet.  Thus  it  is  with  the  orator's  understand- 
ing, which  is  suddenly  opened  by  a  thought  that  strikes 
it,  and  from  which  arises  completely  organized  the  idea 
of  his  topic  to  become  the  Minerva  or  wisdom  of  his 
discourse.  In  this  case  the  plan  of  his  composition 
arranges  itself  spontaneously.  The  parent  idea  takes 
the  place  of  sovereignty  at  once,  by  right  of  birth,  and 
all  the  others  group  themselves  around  her,  and  to  her 
subordinate  themselves  naturally,  in  order  to  cooperate 
in  better  displaying  her  and  doing  her  honor,  as  bees 
around  the  queen  bee  to  work  under  her  direction  at  the 
common  task,  or  as,  in  revolutions  and  the  emergencies 
which  end  them,  nations  instinctively  rally  about  the 
man  of  Providence,  raised  up  by  the  Almighty  to  reestab- 
lish order,  equity,  and  peace. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  FORMATION  AND  THE  ARRANGEMENT  OP  IDEAS 

The  idea  is  formed  either  through  the  fecundation  of 
the  understanding  by  the  object  which  there  engenders 
its  image  and  deposits  its  life,  oi^  by  the  bringing  to- 
gether of  various  elements  transformed  and  made  one  by 
thfi-absorbing  and  reflecting  operations  of  the  mindj^ot 
else  by  a  mixed  process  which  partakes  of  both  these,  and 
which  we  just  now  described. 

In  all  three  cases,  however,  at  the  first  moment  of  con- 
ception, there  is  as  yet  only  a  shapeless  and  vague 
product  which  floats,  so  to  say,  upon  the  waters  of  the 
understanding,  and  over  which  broods  the  spirit  of  life 
which  has  indeed  animated  it,  but  which  has  still  to  de- 
velop and  to  organize  it,  to  establish  it  in  a  definite  state 
of  existence,  and  to  give  it  an  individuality  ^  by  means 
of  words  and  in  the  discourse. 

It  is  the  germ  fecundated  in  the  parent  soil,  but  which 
cannot  yet  spring  forth  without  danger,  for  want  of  the 
necessary  organization  to  live  and  take  its  place  in  the 
world  to  which  it  is  destined  to  belong.  Therefore,  a 
period  of  incubation  and  organogenesis  is  indispensable 
to  it  under  pain  of  its  abortion,  and  the  loss  of  its  life. 

This  is  precisely  the  speaker's  case;  he  has  conceived 

1  "A  local  halitation  and  a  name."  There  is  throughout  the 
whole  of  these  passages  a  striking  analogy  between  the  thoughts 
of  Shakespeare,  as  they  are  hinted  in  his  brief  picture  of  the 
poet,  and  those  which  M.  Bautain,  applying  them  to  the  orator, 
more  philosophically  analyzes  and  more  fully  develops. 

115 


116  FORMATION  OF  IDEAS 

his  idea,  and  he  bears  it  within  the  entrails  of  his  under- 
standing. He  must  not  commit  it  to  the  day  until  it  is 
able  to  appear  with  the  conditions  of  vitality,  that  is  to 
say,  before  it  is  organized  in  all  its  parts,  in  order  that 
it  may  properly  perform  its  functions  in  the  world  which 
it  is  to  enter — neglect  this,  and  you  will  have  an  abortive 
discourse,  words  without  life. 

Sometimes  the  idea  thus  conceived  is  developed  and 
formed  rapidly,  and  then  the  plan  of  the  discourse  ar- 
ranges itself  on  a  sudden,  and  you  throw  it  upon  paper 
warm  with  the  fervor  of  the  conception  which  has  just 
taken  place,  as  the  metal  in  a  state  of  fusion  is  poured 
into  the  mold,  and  fills  at  a  single  turn  all  its  lineaments. 
It  is  the  case  most  favorable  to  eloquence — that  is,  if  the 
idea  has  been  well  conceived,  and  if  it  be  fraught  with 
iigbt. 

^  But  in  general,  one  must  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  form 
one's  plan.  In  nature,  life  always  needs  a  definite  time 
for  self-organization — and  it  is  only  ephemeral  beings 
which  are  quickly  formed,  for  they  quickly  pass  away. 
Everything  destined  to  be  durable  is  of  slow  growth,  and 
both  the  solidity  and  the  strength  of  existing  things  bear 
a  direct  ratio  to  the  length  of  their  increase  and  the  ma- 
tureness  of  their  production. 

^  When,  therefore,  you  have  conceived  an  idea,  unless  it 
be  perfectly  clear  to  you  at  the  first  glance,  be  in  no  haste 
to  throw  it  into  shape.  Carry  it  for  a  time  in  your 
mind,  as  the  mother  carries  her  offspring,  and  during 
this  period  of  gestation  (or  bearing),  by  the  very  fact 
that  the  germ  lives  in  your  understanding,  and  lives 
with  its  life,  it  will  of  itself  tend  towards  development 
and  completion.  By  means  of  the  spiritual,  the  mental 
incubation  of  meditation,  it  will  pass  from  the  egg  to  the 
embryo,  and  when  sufficiently  mature  to  be  trusted  to  the 


FORMATION  OF  IDEAS  117 

light  of  day,  it  will  spontaneously  strive  to  break  from 
confinement,  and  to  issue  forth  to  view — then  comes  the 
moment  for  writing. 

The  organic  generation  of  ideas  is  as  impossible  to  ex- 
plain fully  as  that  of  bodies.  Nature's  work  is  mys- 
terious in  the  one  respect  as  in  the  other ;  only  there  be- 
ing a  part  for  freewill  and  conscience  to  play  in  the  in- 
tellectual sphere,  we  see  a  little  more  clearly  in  this  than 
in  the  other,  and  cooperate  a  little  more  directly. 

The  understanding,  in  fact,  is  a  spiritual  soil  which 
has  feeling,  consciousness,  and  up  to  a  certain  point,  a 
knowledge  of  whatever  is  taking  place  in  it.  "We  cannot 
conceive  an  idea  without  being  conscious  of  it;  for  the 
very  property  of  a  mental  conception  is  the  formation 
within  us  of  a  new  knowledge ;  and  thus  we  are  not  left, 
in  this  respect,  as  in  the  physical  order,  to  the  operation 
of  the  blind  force  of  nature.  The  mother  of  the  Macca- 
bees said  to  her  children — ''I  know  not  how  you  were 
formed  .  .  .  nor  how  the  life  you  have  received  was 
created;''  now,  the  understanding,  which  is  the  mother 
of  the  ideas  engendered  by  it  and  living  in  it,  has  the 
privilege  not  only  of  feeling  but  of  seeing  their  forma- 
tion; otherwise  it  would  not  be  understanding.  It  as- 
sists at  the  development  of  its  ideas,  and  cooperates 
therein,  actively  and  intelligently,  by  the  functions  of 
thought  and  reflection,  by  meditation  and  mental  toil. 
Such  is  the  difference  between  physical  and  moral  nature, 
between  the  life  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  mind,  be- 
tween the  action  of  animate  matter  and  that  of  intelli- 
gence. 

The  thoughts  apply  themselves  to  a  frequent  considera- 
tion of  the  idea  conceived ;  they  turn  it  and  re-turn  it  in 
every  direction,  look  at  it  in  all  its  aspects,  place  it  in 
all  manner  of  relations ;  then  they  penetrate  it  with  their 


118  FORMATION  OF  IDEAS 

light,  scrutinize  its  foundation,  and  examine  its  prin- 
cipal parts  in  succession;  these  begin  to  come  out,  to 
separate  themselves  from  each  other,  to  assume  sharp 
outlines,  just  as  in  the  bud  the  first  rudimentary  traces 
of  the  flower  are  discernible;  then  the  other  organic 
lines,  appearing  one  after  the  other,  instinct  with  life, 
or  like  the  confused,  first  animate  form,  which,  lit- 
tle by  little,  declares  itself  in  all  the  finish  of  its  pro- 
portions. In  like  manner,  the  idea,  in  the  successive 
stages  of  its  formation,  shows  itself  each  day  in  fuller 
development  to  the  mind  which  bears  it,  and  which  ac- 
quires assurance  of  its  progress  by  persevering  medita- 
tion. 

There  are  frequently  good  ideas  which  perish  in  a 
man's  understanding,  abortively,  whether  for  want  of 
V  nourishment,  or  from  the  debility  of  the  mind  which, 
^  through  levity,  indolence,  or  giddiness,  fails  to  devote  a 
^^^^^  sufficient  amount  of  reflection  to  what  it  has  conceived. 
It  is  even  observable  that  those  who  conceive  with  the 
greatest  quickness  and  facility  bring  forth,  generally, 
both  in  thoughts  and  in  language,  the  weakest  and  the 
least  durable  productions;  whether  it  be  that  they  do 
not  take  time  enough  to  mature  what  they  have  con- 
ceived— hurried  into  precocious  display  by  the  vivacity 
of  their  feelings  and  imagination — or  on  account  of  the 
impressionability  and  activity  of  their  minds,  which, 
ever  yielding  to  fresh  emotions,  exhausting  themselves 
in  too  rapid  an  alternation  of  revulsions,  have  not  the 
strength  for  patient  meditations,  and  allow  the  half- 
formed  idea  or  the  crude  thought,  born  without  life,  to 
escape  from  the  understanding.  Much,  then,  is  in  our 
own  power  towards  the  ripening  and  perfecting  of  our 
ideas. 
Nevertheless,  we  must  acknowledge  and  with  humility 


FORMATION  OF  IDEAS  119 

confess — even  while  conceding  their  full  share  in  the 
result  to  reason  and  our  own  voluntary  efforts — a  share 
as  undeniable  in  this  case,  and  perhaps  more  undeniable, 
than  in  any  other — that  there  is  a  great  deal  which  is 
not  within  our  power  in  the  whole  of  this  operation,  and 
that  a  man's  own  proper  part,  or  merit,  in  the  matter 
is  of  very  slight  account,  compared  to  the  immense  and 
gratuitous  gifts  on  which  he  must  rely.  Who  can  give 
to  genius,  or  even  to  talent,  that  marvelous  understand- 
ing by  which  things  are  promptly  and  lucidly  conceived 
— that  fertile  and  sensitive  mirror  of  ideas  which  re- 
sponds to  the  slightest  objective  impression,  and  so  as- 
tonishingly reproduces  all  its  types  ? 

Who  can  give  them  that  powerful  intelligence,  whose 
piercing  glance  seizes  every  relation,  discerns  every 
shade,  traverses  the  whole  extent  of  ideas?  That  glow- 
ing imagination  which  invests  each  conception  with  bril- 
liant coloring — ^that  unfailing  and  tenacious  memory 
which  preserves  unimpaired  all  the  features  of  it,  and 
reproduces  them  at  will,  either  separately  or  together,  to 
assist  the  labor  of  thought  and  meditation  ? 

Who  can  give  them  that  vigorous  attention,  that  strong 
grasp  of  the  mind,  which  seizes  with  energy  and  holds 
with  perseverance  before  the  eye  of  the  intelligence,  the 
object  to  be  considered  and  sounded;  who  gives  them 
that  patience  of  observation,  which  is  itself  a  species  of 
genius,  especially  in  the  study  of  Nature? 

All  these  rich  endowments  may,  indeed,  be  developed 
by  exercise  and  perfected  by  art;  but  neither  exercise 
nor  art  can  acquire  them.  And  since  in  the  order  of  in- 
telligence, and  of  science,  as  in  the  physical  world,  we 
see  nothing  without  the  light  which  illumines  objects, 
whence  do  these  select  minds  get  that  intellectual  and 
immaterial  light,  which  shines  upon  them  more  abun- 


120  FORMATION  OF  IDEAS 

dantly  than  on  others  and  enables  them  to  discern  in 
things  and  in  the  ideas  of  things  what  others  see  not? 
So  that,  according  to  the  magnificent  expression  of  the 
Royal  Prophet  they  see  the  light  in  the  light.  Whence 
the  lofty  inspirations,  the  sudden  flashings  of  genius, 
producing  in  it  great  and  new  ideas,  so  deeply  and  so 
mightily  conceived,  that  they  become  by  their  radiation 
so  many  centers  of  light,  so  many  torches  of  the  human 
race?  How  is  it  that,  in  the  presence  of  nature  or  of 
society,  they  experience  such  emotions  and  such  impres- 
sions, that  they  see  and  understand  what  to  others  is  all 
darkness  and  void? 

We  might  as  well  ask  why  one  soil  is  more  fruitful 
than  another,  why  the  sun  in  a  given  climate  is  brighter, 
and  his  light  more  pure.  The  Almighty  dispenses  His 
treasures  and  His  favors  as  He  deems  best,  and  this  in 
the  moral,  no  less  than  in  the  physical  world.  In  this 
dispensation  to  nations  or  to  individuals.  He  always  has 
in  view  the  manifestation  of  His  truth,  His  power,  and 
His  mercy ;  and  wherever  he  kindles  a  larger  share  than 
usual  of  light  and  fire,  wherever  the  magnitude  of  His 
gifts  is  specially  remarkable,  there  has  he  chosen  organs 
of  His  will,  witnesses  of  His  truth,  heralds  of  His  science, 
representatives  of  His  glory,  and  benefactors  of  man- 
kind. 

In  this  is  the  true  secret  of  those  wonders  of  power, 
of  virtue,  and  of  genius  who  appear  from  time  to  time 
on  earth.  It  is  the  Almighty  who  would  make  Himself 
known  by  His  envoys,  or  would  act  by  His  instruments ; 
and  the  real  glory  and  happiness  of  both  the  last,  where 
they  are  intelligent  and  free  beings,  are  to  cooperate 
with  their  whole  strength  and  their  whole  will  towards 
the  great  coming  of  God's  kingdom  upon  earth,  and  to- 


FORMATION  OF  IDEAS  121 

wards  the  fullest  possible  realization  of  His  eternal 
ideas. 

In  this  respect,  the  same  thing  is  true  of  the  works 
of  man's  mind  in  science,  which  is  true  of  the  acts  of 
his  wiU  in  the  practice  of  beneficence.  He  cannot  do  a 
good  action  without  wishing  it,  and  he  cannot  wish  it 
without  the  exercise  of  his  liberty ;  but  the  inspiration  of 
good,  which  induces  him  to  choose  it,  and  gives  him  the 
strength  to  accomplish  it,  comes  not  from  himself.  It  is 
a  gratuitous  gift  from  the  sole  Giver  of  all  that  is  good. 
It  is  for  this  reason  we  are  told  that,  of  ourselves,  we 
cannot  form  a  good  resolution,  nor  think  a  good  thought, 
nor  certainly  perform  a  good  action;  and,  nevertheless, 
we  will,  we  choose,  we  act  freely — for  we  are  responsible. 
In  like  manner,  we  can  effect  nothing  of  ourselves  in  the 
conception  and  expression  of  our  ideas.  We  stand  in 
need  of  the  life  of  our  understanding  being  perpetually 
renewed;  of  the  life  or  the  impression  of  objects,  pene- 
trating it  more  or  less  deeply;  of  the  light,  which 
fertilizes,  engenders,  fosters;  in  fine,  of  the  life  which 
surrounds  minds  and  spirits,  as  well  as  bodies — ^that 
moral  atmosphere  which  calls  forth,  feeds,  and  develops 
whatever  has  motion  therein.  And  amid  all  this,  and 
along  with  it,  is  required  the  energetic  cooperation  of  the 
spirit  or  mind  itself,  which  feels,  conceives,  thinks,  and 
without  which  nothing  human  can  be  accomplished. 

Thus,  then,  in  the  order  of  speculation  and  for  our 
mental  productions,  as  in  the  moral  order,  and  for  the 
accomplishment  of  our  actions,  while  maintaining  our 
freewill,  while  exercising  to  the  full  the  activity  of  our 
intelligences,  which  have  their  own  rights,  lot,  and  part, 
let  us  lean  above  all  upon  Him  who  has  in  Him  life  it- 
self, who  enlightens  minds  and  fertilizes  or  enriches 


122  FORMATION  OF  IDEAS 

them,  just  as  he  impresses  and  guides  hearts,  and  Whose 
virtue,  in  imparting  itself  to  men,  becomes  the  source  of 
perfect  gifts,  of  luminous  conceptions,  of  great  ideas,  as 
well  as  of  good  inspirations,  holy  resolves,  and  virtuous 
actions. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ARRANGEMENT  OF  THE  PLAN 

Everything  in  nature  comes  in  its  own  time  and  at  the 
predetermined  instant.  The  fruit  drops  its  seed  when  it 
is  ripe  and  fit  for  reproduction,  and  the  child  is  bom 
when  the  hour  has  arrived,  and  when  the  new  being  is 
sufficiently  organized  to  live. 

It  is  thus  with  the  mental  production  which  the  orator 
bears  in  his  understanding.  There  is  a  moment  when 
the  idea  tends  to  issue  forth  from  its  obscure  retreat,  in 
order  to  alight  in  the  world  of  day,  appear  in  the  face 
of  the  sun,  and  there  unfold  itself. 

Only  this  much  difference  there  is,  that  the  latter  pro- 
duction, being  intellectual,  depends  to  a  certain  degree 
upon  the  freedom  of  the  mind;  that,  consequently,  the 
moment  of  birth  is  not,  in  it,  predestinary  or  necessary, 
as  in  the  physical  order,  and  thus  the  will  of  the  author 
may  hasten  or  delay  it  often  to  the  injury  of  the  produc- 
tion and  of  its  development.  Premature  expression 
(that  is,  when  you  seek  to  reduce  to  plan  an  idea  which 
is  not  ripe,  and  the  organization  of  which  is  still  vague) 
may  lead  to  a  failure,  or  at  least  to  a  disappointing  off- 
shoot, incapable  of  life,  or  capable  of  only  a  sickly  life 
— a  fate  which  often  befalls  youthful  authors  too  eager 
to  produce. 

But,  on  the  other  side,  too  much  delay  in  the  composi- 
tion of  the  plan,  when  the  idea  is  ready  and  demands  ex- 
pression, is  equally  prejudicial  to  the  work,  which  may 

123 


^  \  o 


124  ARRANGEMENT  OF  PLAN 

wither,  perish,  and  be  even  stifled  in  the  understanding, 
for  want  of  that  air  and  light  which  have  become  indis- 
pensable to  its  life,  and  which  it  can  derive  only  from 
being  set  in  the  open  day. 

There  are  men  who  experience  the  greatest  difficulty 
imaginable  in  bringing  forth  their  thoughts,  either  from 
a  deficiency  of  the  needful  vigor  to  put  them  forward 
and  invest  them  with  a  suitable  form,  or  from  a  natural 
indolence  which  is  incapable  of  continued  efforts;  like 
those  plants  which  will  never  pierce  the  soil  by  their 
own  unaided  energy,  and  for  which  the  spade  must  be 
used  at  the  risk  of  destroying  their  tender  shoots.  This 
sluggishness,  or  rather  incapability  of  producing  when 
the  time  is  come,  is  a  sign  of  mental  feebleness,  of  a 
species  of  impotency.  It  invariably  betokens  some  signal 
defect  in  the  intellectual  constitution,  and  those  who  are 
afflicted  with  it  will  write  little,  will  write  that  little  with 
difficulty,  and  will  never  be  able  to  speak  extempo- 
raneously in  public ;  they  will  never  be  orators. 

Nevertheless,  even  in  him  who  is  capable  of  becoming 
one,  there  is  sometimes  a  certain  inertness  and  laziness. 
We  have  naturally  a  horror  of  labor,  and  of  all  kinds 

[the  labor  of  thought  is  the  hardest  and  the  most  trouble- 
some; so  that  frequently,  for  no  other  reason  than  to 
avoid  the  pain  which  must  be  undergone,  a  person  long 
keeps  in  his  own  head  an  idea,  already  perfectly  ripe  and 
requiring  only  to  be  put  forth.  He  cannot  bring  him- 
self to  take  up  the  pen  and  put  his  plan  into  shape ;  he 
procrastinates,  day  after  day,  under  the  futile  pretext 
of  not  having  read  enough,  not  having  reflected  enough, 
and  that  the  moment  is  not  yet  come,  and  that  the  work 
will  gain  by  more  prolonged  studies.  Then,  by  this  un- 
seasonable delay,  the  fruit  languishes  in  the  understand- 
ing from  want  of  nourishment;  falls  by  degrees  into 


ARRANGEMENT  OF  PLAN  125 

atrophy,  loses  its  vital  force,  and  dies  before  it  is  yet 
born.  Many  an  excellent  idea  thus  perishes  in  the  germ, 
or  is  stifled  in  its  development  by  the  laziness  or  the  de- 
bility of  the  minds  which  have  conceived  them,  and 
which  have  been  impotent  to  give  them  forth. 

The  Almighty's  gift  is  lost  through  man's  fault.  This 
happens  to  men  otherwise  distinguished  and  gifted  with 
rare  qualities,  but  who  dread  the  responsibilities  of  duty 
and  the  pressure  of  the  circumstances  in  which  they  may 

'^Oiacome  involved.  Under  pretext  of  preserving  their 
freedom,  but  really  in  order  to  indulge  their  indolence, 
they  shun  the  necessity  of  labor,  with  its  demands  and 
its  fatigues,  and  thus  deprive  themselves  of  the  most 
active  stimulus  of  intellectual  life.  Given  up  to  them- 
selves, and  fearing  every  external  influence  as  a  bondage, 
they  pass  their  lives  in  conceiving  without  ever  pro- 
ducing— in  reading  without  contributing  anything  of 
their  own — in  reflecting,  or  rather  in  ruminating,  with- 
out ever  either  writing  or  speaking  publicly.  It  would 
have  been  happy  for  such  men  to  have  been  obliged  to 
work  for  a  living;  for,  in  the  spur  of  want  their  mind 
would  have  found  a  spring  which  it  has  missed,  and  the 
necessity  of  subsisting  by  labor,  or  positive  hunger, 
would  have  effected  in  them  what  the  love  of  truth  or 
of  glory  was  not  able  to  accomplish. 
f    The  very  best  thing  for  him  who  has  received  the  gift 

J  of  eloquence,  and  who  could  make  an  orator,  is,  there- 
(^  fore,  that  he  should  be  compelled  to  become  one.  The 
labor  of  eloquence,  and  the  labor  of  thinking  which  it 
presupposes,  cost  so  much  trouble  and  are  so  difficult, 
that  save  some  choice  characters,  impelled  by  their 
genius  or  by  ambition,  nothing  short  of  some  downright 
necessity  physical  or  moral,  is  requisite  to  drive  men  to 
undertake  them. 


126  ARRANGEMENT  OF  PLAN 

But  if  a  man  is  a  professor,  and  must  deliver  his  lec- 
ture or  instructions  on  some  fixed  day,  and  at  an  ap- 
pointed hour — or  a  clergyman,  and  is  obliged  to  mount 
the  pulpit  at  such  or  such  a  moment ;  or  a  barrister,  who 
has  to  address  the  court  at  the  time  fixed  by  the  judges ; 
or  member  of  some  council  or  deliberative  assembly,  un- 
der  an   engagement   to    speak   in   a   certain   business, 
then,  indeed,  a  man  must  be  ready,  on  pain  of  failing  in 
his  duty,  or  of  compromising  his  position,  his  reputation. 
On  such  occasions,  an  effort  is  made,  laziness  is  shaken 
off,  and  a  man  strives  in  earnest  either  to  fathom  the 
question  (and  this  is  never  done  so  well  as  when  it  is 
necessary  to  write  or  to  speak  thereon),  or  else  to  form 
a  clearer  notion  of  it,  or,  in  short,  to  prepare  the  best 
exposition  of  it,  with  a  view  to  producing  conviction  and 
persuasion.    In  this  respect,  we  may  say  in  the  words  of 
the  Gospel,  ** Blessed  are  the  poor.''    Penury  or  want 
is  the  keenest  spur  of  the  mind  and  of  the  will.    You  are 
forced  to  bestir  yourself  and  to  draw  on  your  inventive 
resources,  and  in  youth  especially,  which  is  the  most 
favorable    time  for   securing  instruction    and   acquire- 
ments, it  is  a  great  happiness  to  be  plucked  away  by 
necessity  from  the  enticement  of  pleasure,  the  dissipa- 
tions of  the  world,  the  inactivity  of  supineness.     There 
needs  nothing  short  of  this  kind  of  compulsion,  and  of 
the  fear  which  it  inspires,  to  recall  to  refiection,  medita- 
tion, and  the  persevering  exercise  of  thought,  a  soul 
drawn  outward  by  all  the  senses,  athirst  for  enjoyment, 
and  carried  away  by  the  superabundance  of  life  (which 
at  that  age  is  overflowing)  into  the  external  world,  there 
to  seek  for  that  nourishment  and  happiness  which  it  will 
not  there  find.     Our  own  entire  youth  was  passed  in  that 
violent  state,  that  unceasing  conflict  between  the  instinct 
of  nature  and  the  duty  of  toil.    For  this  we  know  what 


ARRANGEMENT  OF  PLAN  127 

it  costs  to  achieve  the  triumph,  and  what  most  tends  to 
ensure  it. 

How  ought  your  plan  to  be  arranged  ? 

In  order  to  produce  or  arrange  it  well,  you  must  take 
your  pen  in  hand.  Writing  is  a  whetstone,  or  flattening 
engine,  which  wonderfully  stretches  ideas,  and  brings 
out  all  their  malleableness  and  ductility. 

On  some  unforeseen  occasion  you  may,  without  doubt, 
after  a  few  moments  of  reflection,  array  suddenly  the 
plan  of  your  discourse,  and  speak  appropriately  and  elo- 
quently. This  presupposes,  in  other  respects,  that  you 
are  well  versed  in  your  subject,  and  that  you  have  in 
your  understanding  chains  of  thought  formed  by  pre- 
vious meditations ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  extemporize  the 
thoughts,  at  least  during  the  whole  of  a  discourse. 

But  if  you  have  time  for  preparation,  never  under- 
take to  speak  without  having  put  on  paper  the  frame  of 
what  you  have  to  say,  the  links  of  your  ideas ;  and  this 
for  two  reasons: — ^the  first  and  weightiest  is,  that  you 
thus  possess  your  subject  better,  and  accordingly  you 
speak  more  closely  and  with  less  risk  of  digressions. 
The  second  is,  that  when  you  write  down  a  thought  you 
analyze  it.  The  division  of  the  subject  becomes  clear, 
becomes  determinate,  and  a  crowd  of  things  which  were 
not  before  perceived  present  themselves  under  the  pen. 

Speaking  is  thinking  aloud,  but  it  is  more ;  it  is  think- 
ing with  method  and  more  distinctly,  so  that  in  uttering 
your  idea  you  not  only  make  others  understand  it,  but 
you  understand  it  better  yourself  while  spreading  it  out 
before  your  own  eyes  and  unfolding  it  by  words. 

"Writing  adds  more  still  to  speech,  giving  it  more 
precision,  more  fixity,  more  strictness,  and  by  being 
forced  more  closely  to  examine  what  you  wish  to  write 
down  you  extract  hidden  relations,  you  reach  greater 


128  ARRANGEMENT  OF  PLAN 

depths,  wherein  may  be  disclosed  rich  veins  or  abundant 
lodes. 

We  are  able  to  declare  that  one  is  never  fully  con- 
scious of  all  that  is  in  one's  own  thought,  except  after 
having  written  it  out.  So  long  as  it  remains  shut  up  in 
the  inside  of  the  mind,  it  preserves  a  certain  haziness; 
one  does  not  see  it  completely  unfolded ;  and  one  cannot 
consider  it  on  all  sides,  in  each  of  its  facets,  in  each  of  its 
bearings. 

Again,  while  it  merely  flies  through  the  air  in  words,  it 
retains  something  vague,  mobile,  and  indefinite.  Its  out- 
lines are  loosely  drawn,  its  shape  is  uncertain,  the  ex- 
pression of  it  is  more  or  less  precarious,  and  there  is  al- 
ways something  to  be  added  or  withdrawn.  It  is  never 
more  than  a  sketch.  Style  only  gives  to  thought  its  just 
expression,  its  finished  form,  and  perfect  manifesta- 
tion. 

Nevertheless,  beware  of  introducing  style  into  the  ar- 
rangement of  your  plan;  it  ought  to  be  like  an  artist's 
draught,  the  sketch,  which,  by  a  few  lines  unintelligible 
to  everybody  save  him  who  has  traced  them,  decides  what 
is  to  enter  into  the  composition  of  the  picture,  and  each 
object's  place.  Light  and  shadow,  coloring  and  expres- 
sion, will  come  later..  Or,  to  take  another  image,  the 
plan  is  a  skeleton,  the  dry  bone-frame  of  the  body,  re- 
pulsive to  all  except  the  adept  in  anatomy,  but  full  of 
interest,  of  meaning,  and  of  significance  for  him  who  has 
studied  it  and  who  has  practiced  dissection;  for  there 
is  not  a  cartilage,  a  protuberance,  or  a  hollow,  which 
does  not  mark  what  that  structure  ought  to  sustain — and 
therefore  you  have  here  the  whole  body  in  epitome,  the 
entire  organization  in  miniature. 

Hence,  the  moment  you  feel  that  your  idea  is  mature, 
and  that  you  are  master  of  it  in  its  center  and  in  its 


ARRANGEiVIENT  OF  PLAN  129 

radiations,  its  main  or  trunk  lines,  take  the  pen  and 
throw  upon  paper  what  you  see,  what  you  conceive  in 
your  mind.  If  you  are  young  or  a  novice,  allow  the  pen 
to  have  its  way  and  the  current  of  thought  to  flow  on. 
There  is  always  life  in  this  first  rush,  and  care  should  be 
taken  not  to  check  its  impetus  or  cool  its  ardor.  Let 
the  volcanic  lava  run ;  it  will  become  fixed  and  crystalline 
of  itself. 

Make  your  plan  at  the  first  heat,  if  you  be  impelled  to 
do  so,  and  follow  your  inspiration  to  the  end;  after 
which  let  things  alone  for  a  few  days,  or  at  least  for  sev- 
eral hours.  Then  re-read  attentively  what  you  have 
written,  and  give  a  new  form  to  your  plan;  that  is,  re- 
write it  from  one  end  to  the  other,  leaving  only  what  is 
necessary,  what  is  essential.  Eliminate  inexorably  what- 
ever is  accessory  or  superfluous,  and  trace,  engrave  with 
care  the  leading  characteristics  which  determine  the  con- 
figuration of  the  discourse,  and  contain  within  their  de- 
marcations the  parts  which  are  to  compass  it.  Only 
take  pains  to  have  the  principal  features  well  marked, 
vividly  brought  out,  and  strongly  connected  together,  in 
order  that  the  division  of  the  discourse  may  be  clear  and 
the  links  firmly  welded. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CHARACTER  OF   THE  PLAN 

The  essential  properties  of  the  plan  are  derivable  from 
its  very  nature.  As  it  is  the.  design  of  the  oratorical 
building,  it  ought  to  be  drawfi  with  neatness,  distributed 
suitably  into  its  compartments,  "in  right  proportions,  so 
that  at  one  glance  the  architect,  or  any  sensible  person 
versed  in  this  kind  of  work,  should  perceive  the  aim  of 
the  construction  or  the  idea  to  be  realized,  as  well  as  the 
means  for  attaining  it.  The  plan  is  a  failure  if  it  does 
not  suggest  to  the  understanding  observer  these  things. 

Firsts— The  drawing  depends  on  the  mind,  which  con- 
ceives and  thinks,  and  on  the  hand,  which  wields  the  pen- 
cil. A  design  will  always  bear  a  sure  ratio  to  the  manner 
of  feeling,  conceiving,  and  reproducing  what  is  seen  in 
nature  or  what  is  imagined,  and  whatever  may  be  the 
dexterity  of  the  hand,  if  the  soul  animate  it  not,  if  the 
understanding  guide  it  not,  it  will  compose  nothing  but 
images  without  life,  and  copies,  exact  possibly,  yet  void 
of  expression.  By  the  simplest  touch,  by  one  stroke  of 
the  brush,  the  whole  soul  may  be  revealed ;  witness  that 
great  painter  who  recognized  his  equal  from  a  single 
line  traced  by  him. 

Now  what  advice  can  we  give  on  this  head?  All  the 
precepts  in  the  world  will  never  teach  feeling  or  concep- 
tion. We  have  said  pretty  nearly  all  that  can  be  said, 
when  speaking  of  the  conception  and  formation  of  ideas. 
But  what  may  indeed  be  recommended  to  the  inexpe- 

130 


^a(^ 


CHARACTER  OF  THE  PLAN  131 

rienced  orator  is  to  confine  himself  in  constructing  his 
plan  to  tile  salient  features  of  his  subject,  to  lay  down 
"boldly  the  trunk  lines  of  the  discourse,  omitting  all  fillings 
up ;  to  draw  broadly,  with  hatchet-strokes,  so  to  say,  and 
not  to  set  about  punctuating,  not  to  get  lost  in  minutiaa, 
when  the  business  is  to  mark  out  the  main  ways. 

Another  advice  which  may  be  ^ven  is,  to  leave  nothing 
obscure,  doubtful,  or  vague  in  these  outlines,  and  to  ad- 
mit no  feature  into  his  sketch  which  does  not  indicate 
something  of  importance.  By  practice  and  the  direc- 
tions of  a  skillful  master,  he  will  learn  to  deal  in  those 
potent  pencilings  which  express  so  much  in  so  small  a 
space ;  and  this  it  is  which  makes  extemporization  so  easy 
and  so  copious,  because  each  point  of  the  plan  becomes 
instinct  with  life,  and  by  pressing  upon  it  as  you  pass 
along  your  discourse  makes  it  a  spring  gushing  with 
luminous  ideas  and  inexhaustible  expressions. 

The  first  etchings  of  the  great  masters  are  sometimes 
more  precious  in  the  artist's  eye  than  their  finished  pic- 
tures, because  they  disclose  the  author's  thoughts  more 
unveiled,  and  the  means  he  has  adopted  for  conveying 
them.  And  in  like  manner  the  young  writer  will  profit- 
ably study  the  plans  of  great  speakers,  in  order  to  learn 
how  to  model  as  they  did;  and  what  will  be  still  more  im- 
proving, he  will  construct  those  plans  himself  from  their 
discourses,  and  by  a  deep  meditation  of  their  master- 
pieces and  the  intellectual  labor  which  the  construc- 
tion just  hinted  demands,  he  will  get  further  into  their 
innermost  thoughts,  and  will  better  appreciate  the  rela- 
tion between  those  thoughts  and  the  magnificent  embodi- 
ment of  them. 

Second. — The^  right  distribution  of  your  plan  de- 
pends  also  on  youF~manner  of  conceiving. yaur:.-suhj£ct 
and  the  end  you  have  in  view  in  your  discoursa;  nor 


132  CHARACTER  OF  THE  PLAN 

have  general  rules  much  practical  range  even  here. 
(What  is  required  are,  good  sense,  sagacity  and  tact  j 
good  sense  to  see  things  as  they  are,  in  their  true  light, 
or  in  their  most  favorable  aspect,  so  as  not  to  say  what 
will  not  befit  the  occasion ;  sagacity,  to  turn  the  subject 
over,  penetrate  it  through,  analyze  it,  a-natopiize  it,  and 
exhibit  it,  first  on  paper,  then  in  speaking¥tact,  to  speak 
appropriately,  leave  in  the  shade  whatfivei'Mjannot  ap- 
pear without  disadvantage,  and  bring  out  into  strong 
light  whatever  is  most  in  your  favojx  to  put  everything 
in  its  own  place,  and  to  do  all  this  ^Juickly,  with  neatness, 
"^'clearness,  simplicity,  so  that  in  the  very  knot  of  the  state- 
ment of  the  case  may  be  discerned  all  the  folds  and  coils 
of  the  main  idea  about  to  be  untied  and  laid  forth  by  the 
discourse. 

An  ill-conceived,  an  ill-divided  plan,  which  does  not  at 
once  land  the  hearer  right  in  the  middle  of  the  subject 
and  in  full  possession  of  the  matter,  is  rather  an  en- 
cumbrance than  a  help.  It  is  a  rickety  scaffolding  which 
will  bear  nothing.  It  but  loads  and  disfigures  the  build- 
ing instead  of  serving  to  raise  it. 

Third, — Proportion  and  harmony  in  its  parts  con- 
tribute to  the  beauty  of  a  discourse.  In  all  things  beauty 
is  the  result  of  variety  in  unity  and  of  unity  in  variety. 
It  is  the  necessity  of  oneness  which  assigns  to  each  part 
its  rank,  place,  and  dimensions. 

Frequently  the  exordium  is  too  long,  and  the  perora- 
tion interminable.  There  is  little  or  nothing  left  for  the 
middle;  and  you  get  a  monster  with  an  enormous  head, 
a  measureless  tail,  and  a  diminutive  body.  At  other 
times  it  is  some  limb  of  the  discourse  which  is  lengthened 
until  the  body  of  the  work  is  out  of  sight,  the  result 
being  a  shocking  deformity,  as  when  a  man  has  long 
arms  or  legs  with  a  dwarf's  body.    The  main  idea  ought 


CHARACTER  OF  THE  PLAN  133 

to  come  out  in  each  part ;  the  hearer  ought  to  be  always 
led  back  to  it  by  the  development  of  the  accessory 
thoughts,  however  numerous,  these  having  no  regular 
vitality  save  by  the  sustained  circulation  through  them  of 
the  former.  Should  they  grow  and  dilate  too  much,  it 
can  only  be  at  the  cost  of  the  parent-idea ;  and  they  must 
produce  deformity  and  a  sort  of  disease  in  the  discourse, 
like  those  monstrous  excrescences  which  devour  the  ani- 
mal as  when  there  is  any  irregular  or  excessive  growth  of 
one  organ,  through  the  abnormal  congestion  of  the  blood, 
thus  withdrawn  from  the  rest  of  the  organization. 

It  is  chiefly  when  you  have  to  extemporize  that  you 
must  take  the  most  care  of  your  division,  and  of  the  nice 
allotment  of  all  the  parts  of  your  plan ;  one  of  the  disad- 
vantages of  extemporization,  and  perhaps  the  greatest 
disadvantage  being,  diffuseness,  slowness,  and  digressive- 
ness,  when  you  trust  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment, 
excitement  of  speaking — for  you  cannot  always  com- 
mand the  result  amidst  the  mass  of  words  and  the  dis- 
tractions of  the  imagination. 

You  will  obviate  this  danger,  as  far  as  may  be,  by 
strongly  determining  beforehand  the  proportion  of  the 
various  parts;  and  this  so  clearly  and  so  strikingly  as 
never  to  lose  sight  of  it  while  speaking,  and  thus  to  be 
constantly  recalled  to  it,  and  to  recall  the  hearer  athwart 
the  digressions,  episodes,  or  sudden  developments  which 
may  present  themselves,  and  which  are  not  always  to  be 
excluded;  nay,  sometimes  amidst  the  emotions  of  sensi- 
bility or  the  transports  of  passion,  into  which  by  the 
torrent  of  extemporization  the  orator  may  be  hurried. 

Let  the  plan  of  the  speech,  then,  be  traced  with  a  firm 
hand,  distributed  with  exactitude,  and  rightly  propor- 
tioned in  all  its  members,  and  then  it  will  be  an  immense 
help  to  the  speaker  whom  the  suddenness  and  adventu- 


134  CHARACTER  OF  THE  PLAN 

rousness  of  extemporization  invariably  agitates  more  or 
less.  He  will  then  abandon  himself  with  greater  confi- 
dence to  his  inspirations  and  to  the  tide  of  words,  when 
he  feels  a  solid  ground  well  known  to  him  beneath  his 
feet;  and  is  aware  of  all  its  advantages  and  incon- 
veniences, if  he  remain  always  mindful  of  the  end  he  has 
in  view  and  of  the  way  which  leads  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PINAL  PREPARATION  BEFORE  SPEAKING 

The  plan  of  a  discourse,  however  well  put  together,  is 
still  but  a  barren  letter,  or,  as  we  have  said,  a  species  of 
skeleton  to  which  flesh  and  vitality  must  be  given  by 
words.  It  is  the  discourse  potentially,  and  has  to  become 
such  actually.  Now  before  passing  from  the  power  of 
acting  to  action,  and  with  a  view  to  effecting  this  pas- 
sage, which  at  the  very  moment  of  executing  it  is  al- 
ways difficult,  there  is  a  last  preparation  not  without  its 
importance  and  calculated  to  conduce  largely  towards 
success.  Thus  the  soldier  gets  ready  his  weapons  and 
his  resolution  before  the  fight;  thus  the  general  makes 
his  concluding  arrangements  after  having  fixed  on  his 
order  of  battle,  and  in  order  to  carry  it  well  into  effect. 
So  it  is  with  the  speaker  at  that  supreme  instant.  After 
having  fixed  his  ideas  upon  paper  in  a  clearly  defined 
sketch  which  is  to  him  a  plan  of  the  campaign,  he  ought, 
a  little  while  before  entering  the  lists  or  battle  field,  to 
recollect  himself  once  more  in  order  to  gather  up  all  his 
energies,  call  forth  all  the  powers  of  his  soul,  mind,  and 
body  for  the  work  which  he  has  undertaken,  and  hold 
them  in  the  spring  and  direction  whither  they  have  to 
rush.  This_  is  the  culminating  point  of  the  preparation, 
a  critical  moment  which  is  very  agitating  and  very  pain- 
ful to  whoever  is  about  to  speak.  We  shall  proceed  to 
depict  it,  and  to  show  what  may  then  be  done  towards 
the  success  of  a  discourse,  by  the  use  of  the  speaker's  en- 

135 


136  PREPARATION 

tire  means,  that  is,  of  all  his  intellectual,  moral,  and 
physical  faculties.  For  the  true  orator  speaks  with  his 
entire  personality,  with  all  the  powers  of  his  being,  and 
for  that  reason,  at  the  moment  just  preceding  his  ad- 
dress, he  should  summon,  and  marshal,  and  concentrate 
all  his  instruments. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FINAL  INTELLECTUAL  PREPARATION 

The  plan  is  written  down,  but  it  is  outside  the  mind,  it 
is  on  paper;  and  although  it  has  issued  from  the  mind, 
still  the  linking  of  ideas  is  a  thing  so  subtile  that  it  easily 
escapes,  and  especially  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  in 
which  the  speaker  must  take  his  stand,  and  which  is 
liable  to  present  a  thousand  distracting  contingencies. 
An  hour,  therefore,  or  half  an  hour,  or  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  speaking,  he  ought  at  the  last  moment  to  go 
over  his  plan  again  silently,  review  all  its  parts  with 
their  connection,  settle,  in  the  most  definite  manner  the 
main  ideas  and  the  order  in  which  they  occur ;  in  a  word, 
deeply  inscribe  or  engrave  in  his  imagination  what  is 
written  on  the  paper,  so  as  to  be  able  to  read  within 
himself,  in  his  own  understanding,  and  this  with  cer- 
tainty and  without  effort,  the  signs  of  what  he  has  to 
say.  This  is,  as  it  were,  the  internal  proof-copy  of  the 
external  manuscript,  in  order  that,  without  the  help  of 
notes,  he  may  find  the  whole  array  of  his  ideas  upon  the 
living  tablets  of  his  imagination.  For  this  purpose,  he 
sums  up  that  array  once  again,  and  epitomizes  it  in  a 
few  words  which  perform  the  office  at  once  of  colors 
and  of  sign-posts — colors  around  which  are  mustered 
fragmentary  or  incidental  thoughts,  like  soldiers  around 
their  ofiicer,  and  sign-posts  indicating  the  road  to  be  fol- 
lowed in  order  to  reach  the  destination  without  fail. 

137 


138  FINAL  PREPARATION 

Finally,  by  one  supreme  exertion  of  thought,  he  connects 
all  these  signs  together  in  order  to  take  in  them,  all  at  a 
single  glance  in  their  respective  places  and  their  mutual 
bearings,  with  a  view  to  the  end  which  the  discourse  is 
intended  to  attain;  just  as  a  general  acts  who,  as  the 
fight  begins,  looks  from  some  height  upon  the  ordering  of 
his  army  and  sees  each  division  and  regiment  where  he 
had  appointed  them  to  be.  Then,  after  having  pos- 
sessed himself  of  the  whole  by  means  of  this  glance,  he 
holds  it  as  it  were  in  his  grasp  and  can  hurl  it  into 
action  according  to  the  plan  which  he  has  conceived.  It 
is  easy  to  understand  that  in  order  to  be  able  to  do  this, 
the  plan  must  not  only  have  been  well  conceived  and 
well  ordered,  but  clearly  written  out  on  paper,  so  that, 
at  a  moment  of  such  pressure,  a  single  glance  may  suf- 
fice to  review  both  as  a  whole  and  in  its  parts. 

'n  general,  the  shortest  are  the  best  plans,  if  they  be 
well  filled  and  loaded  with  ideas;  and  whenever  it  is 
practicable  to  reduce  all  the  ideas  to  one,  the  various  con- 
sequences of  which  are  thus  derivatively  commanded, 
nothing  can  be  so  convenient  or  so  sure. 
JThis  accounts  for  the  fact  that  one  may  sometimes 
jak  wonderfully  well  without  so  much  preparation, 
and  produce  a  very  great  effect.  All  that  is  required  is 
one  idea,  of  which  the  speaker  is  deeply  convinced  and 
the  consequences  and  applications  of  which  he  clearly 
'discerns,  or  else  some  lively  and  heart-stirring  sentiment ; 
and  then  the  light  of  the  idea  or  the  emotion  of  the  feel- 
ing bursts  forth  into  words  like  the  pent-up  torrent  of  a 
reservoir  through  a  fissure  in  the  dam ;  but  the  water-shed 
must  have  been  full,  and  the  plenteousness  of  the  inunda- 
tion supposes  protracted  toil  for  the  previous  collection. 
It  is  thus  with  the  most  prompt  and  copious  extemporiza- 
tions ;  they  are  invariably  the  reservoir  of  ideas  and  feel- 


FINAL  PREPARATION  139 

ings,  prepared  and  accumulated  with  time,  and  rushing 
forth  in  a  discourse. 

In  aU  cases,  wlmt  iRj}f  the  first  impQrl^TV^  ^^  *^  ^^^  ^^^ 
the  ideas  m  a  singE^^^?  i^  order  to  keeplipthe  unity 
onBS"**Subject,  amidst  variety  of  exposition  and  the 
multiplicity  of  representations;  for  in  this  consists  the 
fine  ordering  of  a  speech.  Once  sure  of  the  leading  idea, 
the  divisions  and  sub-divisions  must  be  rapidly  in- 
spected. You  must  proceed  from  one  to  the  other  re- 
flectively in  order  to  test  what  they  will  be  worth  at  the 
decisive  instant,  and  to  penetrate  them  by  a  last  glance 
of  the  mind — a  glance  which  is  never  more  vigorous  or 
more  piercing  than  at  that  important  moment.  You 
must  act  like  the  general  who  passes  among  the  ranks  be- 
fore the  signal  is  given,  and  who  assures  himself  by  the 
mien  of  his  troops  that  they  will  behave  well,  while  he 
excites  their  courage  by  words  of  fire,  and  pours  fresh 
spirit  and  boldness  into  their  hearts.  He  too  has  his 
picked  troops  on  whom  he  relies  more  than  on  the  rest, 
and  these  picked  troops  are  to  act  at  the  crisis  of  the 
fight.  He  keeps  them  in  reserve  to  decide  the  victory, 
and  he  is  aware  beforehand  of  all  the  power  with  which 
they  furnish  him. 

So,  among  the  various  thoughts  which  make  up  a  dis- 
course; and  in  their  array,  there  are  some  better  cal- 
culated than  the  others  to  strike  the  imagination  and  to 
move  the  soul :  some  stirring  picture,  some  unusually  in- 
teresting narrative,  some  convincing  proof,  some  motive 
which  will  carry  away  the  hearer 's  decision ;  and  the  like. 
The  orator,  during  his  final  preparation,  distinguishes 
and  places  in  reserve  these  resources.  He  arranges  them 
appropriately  so  as  to  bring  them  in  at  such  a  part  of  his 
discourse ;  and  without  fully  fathoming  them  before  it  is 
time,  he  keeps  them  under  his  eye,  well  knowing  that 


140  FINAL  PREPARATION 

here  are  wells  of  living  water  which  shall  gush  forth 
when  he  desires  it,  at  a  touch  of  the  sounding  rod.  Upon 
such  means  the  success  of  a  speech  generally  turns,  as 
the  winning  of  a  battle  upon  a  charge  opportunely- 
made. 

Only  care  must  he  taken  not  to  confound  these  re- 
serves of  idea,  these  well  husbanded  resources,  with  what 
are  called  hits  of  eloquence  or  effective  phrases.  These 
last  devices  which  sometimes  fling  a  brilliant  radiance 
over  a  speech  by  a  semblance  of  originality,  by  eccentric 
perceptions,  by  far-fetched  approximations,  and  above  all 
by  strangeness  of  expression,  run  the  risk  almost  invari- 
ably of  sacrificing  sense  to  sound,  substance  to  form,  and 
of  superseding  depth  of  thought  and  warmth  of  feeling 
by  sound  of  words  and  an  exaggerated  oratorical  de- 
livery. You  get  to  aim  at  effect,  that  is,  at  astonishing 
your  hearers  and  making  them  admire  you;  you  there- 
fore use  every  means  of  dazzling  and  confounding  them, 
which  is  nearly  always  done  at  the  expense  of  your  sub- 
ject's truthfulness  and  of  your  own  dignity.  Besides, 
as  you  cannot  extemporize  these  effective  phrases,  be- 
cause the  effect  depends  on  a  certain  combination  of 
words  very  difficult  to  arrange  and  spoilt  if  a  single 
word  be  amiss,  you  have  to  compose  these  phrases  before- 
hand, learn  them  by  heart  and  know  them  literally ;  and 
even  then  you  have  still  to  get  them  into  your  discourse 
and  to  prepare  their  admission,  in  order  that  they  may 
make  a  brilliant  appearance  and  produce  the  wished-for 
effect.  The  consequence  is  that  you  convey  them  from  a 
greater  or  a  smaller  distance  with  more  or  less  artifice 
and  disguise,  so  that  a  part  of  the  exposition  is  devoted 
to  clearing  the  way  for  them,  and  to  marshaling  their 
entry  on  the  boards — a  process  which  necessarily  en- 
tails fiUings-up,  gaps,  and  lengthiness  of  various  pas- 


FINAL  PREPARATION  141 

sages  respectively.  And,  indeed,  these  brilliant  hits 
which  discharge  a  great  amount  of  sparks,  and  a  small 
amount  of  either  light  or  heat,  are  for  the  most  part  pur- 
chased at  the  price  of  the  truthfulness  as  well  as  the  in- 
terest of  the  discourse.  It  is  a  fire-work  display  which 
dazzles  and  charms  for  a  moment,  only  to  plunge  you  in 
thick  darkness  again. 

This  is  not  a  genuine  nor  moving  eloquence ;  it  is  the 
parody  of  eloquence  and  a  mere  parade  of  words;  if  I 
may  dare  to  say  so,  a  sort  of  oratorical  charlatanry. 
Woe  to  the  speaker  who  makes  use  of  such  means !  He 
will  speedily  exhaust  himself  by  the  mental  efforts  to  find 
out  new  effects,  and  his  addresses,  aiming  at  the  sublime 
and  the  extraordinary,  will  become  often  ludicrous,  al- 
ways impotent. 

Nor  must  you  rely  on  the  notes  which  you  may  carry 
in  your  hand  to  help  you  in  the  exposition  and  save  you 
from  breaking  down.  Doubtless,  they  may  have  their 
utility,  especially  in  business  speaking,  as  at  the  bar, 
at  the  council  board,  or  in  a  deliberative  assembly. 
Sometimes  they  are  even  necessary  to  remember  facts 
or  to  state  figures.  They  are  the  material  part,  the  bag- 
gage of  the  orator,  and  he  should  lighten  them  and  disen- 
cumber himself  of  their  burden,  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power.  In  truth,  on  the  very  occasions  when  it  should 
seem  you  would  have  most  need  of  them,  they  are  totally 
worthless.  In  the  most  fervid  moments  of  extempo- 
raneous speaking,  when  light  teems,  and  the  sacred  fire 
burns,  when  the  mind  is  hurried  along  upon  the  tide  of 
thoughts,  and  the  tongue,  obedient  to  its  impulse,  ac- 
commodates itself  in  a  wonderful  manner  to  its  opera- 
tions and  lavishes  the  treasures  of  expression,  everything 
should  proceed  from  within.  The  mind's  glance  is  bent 
inwards,  absorbed  by  the  subject  and  its  ideas;  you  dis- 


142  FINAL  PREPARATION 

tinguish  none  of  tHe  external  objects,  and  you  can  no 
longer  even  read  your  notes  on  the  paper.  You  see  the 
lines  without  understanding  them,  and  they  become  an 
embarrassment  instead  of  a  help.  Nothing  so  thoroughly 
freezes  the  oratorical  flow  as  to  consult  those  wretched 
notes.  Nothing  is  so  inimical  to  the  prestige  of  elo- 
quence; it  forthwith  brings  down  to  the  common  earth 
both  the  speaker  and  his  audience. 

Try  then,  when  you  have  to  speak,  to  carry  all  things 
in  yourself,  like  Bias  the  philosopher,  and  after  having, 
to  the  best  of  your  ability,  conscientiously  prepared,  al- 
low yourself,  filled  with  your  subject,  to  be  borne  along 
by  the  current  of  your  ideas  and  the  tide  of  words,  and 
above  all  by  the  Spirit  from  on  High  who  enlightens  and 
inspires.  He  who  cannot  speak  except  with  notes,  knows 
not  how  to  speak,  and  knows  not  even  what  speaking  is ; 
just  as  the  man  of  lore  who  is  so  only  with  his  books 
around  him,  is  not  so  truly,  and  knows  not  even  what 
learning  is. 

In  fine,  you  must  distrust  all  methods  of  mnemonics 
or  artificial  memory,  intended  to  localize  and  to  fagot 
together  in  your  imagination  the  different  parts  of  your 
address.  Cicero  and  Quintilian  recommend  them,  I 
think,  in  moderation ;  be  it  so,  but  let  it  be  in  the  strictest 
possible  moderation.  For  it  is  putting  the  mechanism  of 
form  in  the  stead  of  the  organization  of  thoughts — substi- 
tuting arbitrary  and  conventional  links  for  the  natural 
association  of  ideas;  at  the  very  least,  it  is  introducing 
into  the  head  an  apparatus  of  signs,  forms,  or  images 
which  are  to  serve  as  a  support  to  the  discourse,  and 
which  must  needs  burden,  obscure,  and  hamper  the 
march  of  it. 

If  your  address  be  the  expression  of  an  idea  fraught 
with  life,   it   will   develop   itself   naturally,    as   plants 


FINAL  PREPARATION  143 

germinate,  as  animals  grow,  through  the  sustained  action 
of  a  vital  force,  by  an  incessant  organic  operation,  by  the 
effusion  of  a  living  principle.  It  ought  to  issue  from  the 
depths  of  the  soul,  as  the  stream  from  its  spring — ex 
abundantia  cordis  os  loquitur,  *  ^  out  of  the  f ulLuess  of  the 
heart  the  mouth  speaketh." 

But  a  heart  there  must  be;  and  in  that  heart  a  full- 
ness of  feeling,  manifesting  itself  by  a  plenitude  of  ideas, 
which  will  give  in  its  turn  plenitude  of  expression.  The 
mouth  speaks  with  ease  when  the  heart  is  full ;  but  if  it  is 
empty,  the  head  takes  its  office,  and  it  is  the  head  which 
has  recourse  to  these  artificial  means,  for  want  of  the  in- 
spiration which  fails  it.  It  is  the  resource  of  rhetori- 
cians. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FINAL  MORAL  PREPARATION 

When  yon  at  last  are  in  possession  of  your  plan,  and 
have  engraved  it  upon  your  understanding,  in  the  man- 
ner we  have  just  said,  you  must  try  to  remain  calm  and 
_  collected.  This  is  not  always  so  ea.sy,  on  account  of  the 
'place  where  you  have  to  speak,  at  the  bar,  for  instance, 
or  in  a  public  scene,  or  a  deliberative  assembly.  You 
are  not  in  such  cases  free  to  choose  your  own  moment, 
and  you  have  to  be  ready  for  the  occasion.  You  may 
have  to  wait  long  for  your  turn,  and  till  then  there  occur 
unavoidable  distractions;^  from  which  you  must  keep 
yourself  safe.  If  the  will  reject  them,  the  mind  remains 
self-possessed,  and  may  even  preserve  its  collectedness 
amidst  the  most  varied  scenes,  which  indeed  may  touch 
the  senses,  without  disturbing  the  mind. 

But  if  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  remain  in  soli- 
tude until  the  moment  for  speaking,  as  generally  hap- 
pens to  the  preacher  and  the  lecturer,  it  is  well  to  avoid 
all  external  excitement  which  might  change  the  current 
\y  ^  of  the  thoughts,  and  drive  your  attention  into  another 
channel.  You  should  then  take  refuge  within  the  depth 
of  yourself,  as  in  a  sanctuary  where  the  Almighty  has  de- 
signed to  manifest  Himself  since  your  object  in  speaking 
is  but  to  announce  the  truth,  and  the  Almighty  is  Truth 
itself. 

I  do  not  speak  here  of  those  men  who  discourse  solely 
in  the  interests  of  passion  or  of  party,  and  whose  object 

144 


FINAL  PREPARATION  145 

is  not  the  triumph  of  what  is  true,  but  merely  the  gain 
of  some  success,  some  advantage,  conducive  to  their  am- 
bition, their  pride,  or  their  avarice.  These  men  will 
never  be  orators  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word — vir 
bonus  dicendi  peritus;  for  language  ought  not  to  be  used 
except  in  the  interests  of  truth — to  employ  it  for  any 
other  end  is  to  make  of  it  a  commodity  or  a  traffic. 

If  in  the  stage  which  we  are  depicting,  the  soul  of  him 
who  is  about  to  speak  be  liable  to  feel  variously  affected, 
according  to  the  variety  of  character,  predisposition,  and 
momentary  state,  sometimes,  after  the  final  preparation 
is  over,  it  perceives  that  it  possesses  its  subject,  that  it  is 
master  of  it,  so  far  as  this  may  be,  and  it  then  expe- 
riences a  certain  sense  of  security  which  is  not  without 
sweetness.  A  mind  in  this  state  need  think  no  more  of 
anything,  but  may  remain  passive  and  repose  itself  ere 
proceeding  to  action.  It  has  sometimes  happened  to  my- 
self to  fall  asleep  while  awaiting  the  summons  to  the  pul- 
pit, to  lose  consciousness,  at  least,  and  to  awake  re- 
freshed. 

At  other  times,  and  indeed  more  frequently,  a  man  is 
restless  and  agitated.  The  chest  is  weighted  with  a 
heavy  burden  which  checks  the  breathing,  makes  the 
limbs  sore,  and  oppresses  all  the  faculties  of  mind  and 
body.  This  is  an  extremely  painful  state,  especially  if 
a  man  lias  to  speak  on  a  grave  occasion,  on  a  solemn 
day,  and  in  the  Christian  pulpit.  One  is  conscious  then 
that  there  is  a  divine  duty  to  be  discharged,  and  there 
is  a  fear  of  proving  unfaithful  or  unequal  to  it;  one 
feels  the  full  weight  of  responsibility  before  God.  It 
is  a  truly  agonizing  sensation,  in  which  several  feelings 
are  blended,  and  which  it  may  not  be  useless  to  analyze, 
in  order  to  distinguish  what  it  comprises  that  is  legit- 
imate, that  is  advantageous  to  an  orator,  and,  on  the 


\y 


146  FINAL  PREPARATION 

contrary,  what  is  amiss  in  it  and  liable  to  do  him  harm. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  this  fright, 
experienced  by  him  who  is  on  the  point  of  speaking,  is 
salutary,  at  least  to  a  certain  extent.  It  is  evident  that 
if  it  goes  to  the  length  of  paralyzing  the  orator,  or  of 
impairing  the  use  of  his  means,  it  is  inconvenient  and 
fatal.    But  those  whom  it  is  able  thus  to  crush  will 

*"  never  be  capable  of  speaking  in  public,  as  we  have  already 
observed  in  the  case  of  two  celebrated  writers,  admirable 
for  their  style  and  powerless  in  harangue. 
y'  Woe  to  him  who  experiences  no  fear  before  speaking 

^Jn^ubiic]  It  shows  him  to  be  unconscious  of  the  im-~ 
portance  of  the  function  which  he  is  about  to  discharge 
— that  he  does  not  understand  what  truth  is,  whose 
apostle  he  himself  should  be,  or  that  he  little  cares,  and 
that  he  is  not  animated  by  that  sacred  fire  which  comes 
down  from  heaven  to  burn  in  the  soul.  I  except  alto- 
gether the  Prophets,  the  Apostles  of  Jesus  Christ,  all  who 
speak  under  supernatural  inspiration,  and  who  have 
been  told  that  they  must  not  prepare  what  they  shall 
say  when  they  shall  stand  before  the  powerful  and  the 
arbiters  of  the  world,  for  that  all  they  should  say  shall 
be  given  to  them  at  the  time  itself. 

It  is  not  for  men  like  these  that  we  write.  The  Al- 
mighty, whose  instruments  they  are,  and  who  fills  them 
with  His  Spirit,  makes  them  act  and  speak  as  He 
pleases,  and  to  them  the  resources  of  human  experience 
are  entirely  unnecessary.  They  never  are  afraid,  be- 
cause He  who  is  truth  and  light  is  with  them,  and  speaks 
by  them.  But  others  are  not  afraid  because  their  en- 
lightenment is  small  and  their  self-assurance  great. 
They  are  unconscious  of  the  sacredness  of  their  task  and 
of  their  ministry,  and  they  go  fonvard  like  children  who, 
knowing  not  what  they  do,  play  with  some  terrible 


FINAL  PREPARATION  147 

weapon,  and  with  danger  itself.  The  most  valiant 
troops  always  feel  some  emotion  at  the  first  cannon  shot, 
and  I  have  heard  it  stated  that  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
generals  of  the  empire — who  was  even  called  **the  brav- 
est of  the  brave,"  was  always  obliged  to  dismount  from 
his  horse  at  that  solemn  moment ;  after  which  he  rushed 
like  a  lion  into  the  battle.  Braggarts,  on  the  contrary, 
are  full  of  assurance  before  the  engagement,  and  give 
way  during  the  action. 

So  is  it  with  those  fine  talkers,  who  think  themselves 
competent  to  undertake  any  subject  and  to  face  any 
audience,  and  who,  in  the  excellent  opinion  which  they 
entertain  of  themselves,  do  not  even  think  of  making 
any  serious  preparation.  After  a  few  phrases  uttered 
with  confidence,  they  hesitate,  they  break  down,  or  if 
they  have  sufficient  audacity  to  push  forward  amidst  the 
confusion  of  their  thoughts  and  the  incoherency  of  their 
discourse,  they  twaddle  without  understanding  their 
own  words,  and  drench  their  audience  with  their  inex- 
haustible volubility. 

It  is  well  then  to  feel  somewhat  afraid  ere  speaking, 
first  in  order  that  you  may  not  lightly  expose  yourself 
to  the  trial,  and  that  you  may  be  spared  the  mortifica- 
tion; and,  in  the  second  place,  still  more  particularly, 
if  you  are  obliged  to  speak,  in  order  that  you  may  ma- 
turely consider  what  you  should  say,  seriously  study 
your  subject,  penetrate  it,  become  master  of  it,  and  thus 
be  able  to  speak  usefully  to  a  public  audience. 

The  fear  in  question  is  also  useful  in  making  the 
speaker  feel  his  want  of  help  from  above,  such  as  shall 
give  him  the  adequate  light,  strength,  and  vividness  of 
life.  All  men  who  have  experience  in  public  speaking, 
and  who  have  ever  themselves  been  eloquent,  know  how 
much  they  have  owed  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment, 


148  FINAL  PREPARATION 

and  to  that  mysterious  power  which  gives  it.  It  is  pre- 
cisely because  a  man  may  have  sometimes  received  this 
efficacy  from  above,  rendering  him  superior  to  himself, 
that  he  dreads  being  reduced  to  his  own  strength  in  that 
critical  situation,  and  so  to  prove  beneath  the  task  which 
he  has  to  accomplish. 

This  fear  which  agitates  the  soul  of  a  person  about  to 
speak  has  also  another  and  a  less  noble  cause,  which 
unfortunately  prevails  in  the  majority  of  instances ;  that 
is,  self-love — ^vanity,  which  dreads  falling  below  oneself 
and  below  the  expectations  of  men — a  desire  of  success 
and  of  applause.  Public  speaking  is  a  singularly  con- 
spicuous sort  of  thing,  exposing  a  person  to  all  manner 
of  observations.  Doubtless  there  is  no  harm  in  seeking 
the  esteem  of  one's  fellows,  and  the  love  of  a  good  repu- 
tation is  an  honorable  motive  of  action,  capable  of  pro- 
ducing excellent  effects.  But  carried  too  far,  it  becomes 
a  love  of  glory,  a  passion  to  make  a  dazzling  appearance, 
and  to  cause  oneself  to  become  the  theme  of  talk — and 
then,  like  all  other  passions,  it  is  ready  to  sacrifice  truth, 
justice,  and  good  to  its  own  gratification  or  success. 

Nothing  can  be  better  than  that  the  orator  should  en- 
deavor to  please  and  satisfy  his  audience;  that  desire 
will  impel  him  to  noble  exertions  and  the  exercise  of  all 
his  means;  but  that,  while  actually  speaking,  such  an 
end  should  engross  him  above  everything  else,  and  that 
the  care  of  his  own  glory  should  agitate  him  more  than 
any  love  of  the  truths  which  he  has  to  announce,  or  of 
the  souls  of  the  hearers  whom  he  should  enlighten  and 
edify — this,  I  say,  is  a  gross  abuse,  a  perversion  of  the 
talent  and  of  the  ministry  intrusted  to  him  by  Provi- 
dence, and  sooner  or  later  will  bring  him  to  grief.  This 
inordinate  attention  to  himself  and  his  success  agitates, 
disturbs,  and  makes  him  unhappy — too  often  inciting 


FINAL  PREPARATION  149 

him  to  exaggerations  for  the  sake  of  effect.  In  taking 
from  him  simplicity  it  takes  his  right  sense,  his  tact,  his 
good  taste,  and  he  becomes  displeasing  by  dint  of  striv- 
ing to  please. 

Yet  far  from  us  be  the  idea  of  condemning  a  love  of 
glory  in  the  orator,  and  especially  in  the  lay  orator. 
While  still  young  a  man  needs  this  spur,  which  some- 
times produces  prodigies  of  talent  and  of  labor;  and  it 
may  safely  be  affirmed  that  a  very  great  progress  must 
have  been  made  in  wisdom  and  perfection  to  dispense 
with  it  altogether.  Even  where  it  ought  to  have  the 
least  influence,  it  still  too  often  has  sway,  and  the  min- 
ister of  the  holy  Word,  who  ought  to  be  inspired  by 
the  Spirit  from  on  High,  and  to  refer  exclusively  to 
God  all  that  he  may  do,  has  much  difficulty  in  preserv- 
ing himself  indifferent  to  the  praises  of  men,  seeking 
these  praises  only  too  often,  and  thus  making  self,  al- 
most unconsciously,  the  end  of  his  speaking  and  of  his 
success.  In  such  a  case  the  movements  of  nature  and 
of  grace  get  mingled  in  his  heart,  and  it  is  hard  to  dis- 
tinguish and  separate  them.  This  is  the  reason  why  so 
many  deceive  themselves,  and  why  piety  itself  has  its 
illusions. 

If  it  is  good  to  entertain  some  fear  before  speaking, 
it  would  nevertheless  be  prejudicial  to  entertain  too 
much:  first,  because  a  great  fear  disturbs  the  power  of 
expression;  and  secondly,  because  if  it  does  not  proceed 
from  timidity  of  character,  it  often  springs  from  ex- 
cessive self-love,  from  too  violent  an  attachment  to 
praise,  or  from  the  passion  of  glory,  which  overcomes  the 
love  of  truth.  Here  is  that  which  one  should  try  to 
combat  and  to  abate  in  oneself.  The  real  orator  should 
have  but  what  is  true  in  view;  he  should  blot  himself 
out  in  presence  of  the  truth  and  make  it  alone  appear — 


150  FINAL  PREPARATION 

as  happens  naturally,  spontaneously,  whenever  he  is  pro- 
foundly impressed  by  it,  and  identifies  himself  with  it, 
heart  and  mind.  Then  he  grows  like  it,  great,  mighty, 
and  dazzling.  It  is  no  longer  he  who  lives,  it  is  the 
truth  which  in  him  lives  and  acts;  his  language  is  truly 
inspired ;  the  man  vanishes  in  the  virtue  of  the  Almighty 
who  manifests  himself  by  His  organ — and  this  is  the 
speaker's  noblest,  his  true  glory.  Then  are  wrought  the 
miracles  of  eloquence  which  turn  men's  wills  and 
change  their  souls.  Such  is  the  end  at  which  the  Chris- 
tian orator  should  aim.  He  should  try  to  dwarf  him- 
self, to  annihilate  himself,  as  it  were,  in  his  discourse,  in 
order  to  allow  Him  whose  minister  he  is  to  speak  and  to 
work — a  result  oftenest  attained  when  the  speaker  thinks 
he  has  done  nothing  on  account  of  his  too  fervent  and 
too  natural  desire  to  do  a  great  deal. 

Oh,  you  who  have  taken  the  Lord  for  your  inheritance, 
and  who  prefer  the  light  and  service  of  Heaven  to  all 
the  honors  and  all  the  works  of  earth — ^you,  particu- 
larly, who  are  called  to  the  Apostleship,  and  who  glow 
with  the  desire  to  announce  to  men  the  word  of  God! 
remember  that  here,  more  than  anywhere  else,  virtue 
consists  in  disinterestedness,  and  power  in  abnegation 
of  self.  Endeavor  to  see  in  the  triumphs  of  eloquence, 
if  they  be  granted  you  one  thing  only — the  glory  of 
God.  If  you  have  the  gift  of  touching  the  souls  of 
others,  seek  one  thing  only — to  bring  them,  or  bring 
them  back,  to  God.  For  this  end  repress,  stifle  within 
your  heart,  the  natural  movements  of  pride,  which,  since 
the  days  of  sin,  would  attribute  all  things  to  itself,  even 
the  most  manifest  and  the  most  precious  gifts ;  and  each 
time  that  you  have  to  convey  to  the  people  the  Word 
of  Heaven,  ask  urgently  of  God  the  grace  to  forget  your- 
self, and  to  think  of  Him  and  of  Him  only. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BODILY   PREPARATION 

The  body  also  requires  to  be  prepared  in  a  certain  man- 
ner before  a  harangue.  It  should  be  subjected  to  a 
sort  of  magnetism,  as  the  phrase  runs  in  these  days; 
and  the  orator  who  knows  the  difficulties  and  the  re- 
sources of  his  art  will  take  very  good  care  not  to  under- 
take a  speech,  unless  he  is  compelled  by  circumstances 
to  do  so,  without  making  his  arrangements  in  this  re- 
spect too. 

Let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  the  body  plays  its  part 
in  all  that  we  do,  even  in  the  most  abstract  thoughts  and 
the  most  exquisite  feelings.  We  are  not  angels,  and  the 
human  soul  can  not  act  here  below  without  the  coopera- 
tion of  the  organization  to  which  it  is  united,  and  which 
forms  an  essential  part  of  its  personality.  The  Ego,  in 
truth,  is  applicable  to  the  functions  of  the  body  no  less 
than  to  those  of  the  mind.  A  man  says:  '^7  walk,  I  eat, 
I  digest,"  as  he  says,  **I  think,  I  wish,  I  love";  and 
although  the  organs  have  an  inferior  office  in  human 
actions,  yet  that  office  is  sufficiently  considerable  for 
the  organs  to  promote  or  to  impede  those  actions  in  a 
signal  manner.  The  body  then  should  be  well  disposed 
in  order  that  the  intellectual  and  moral  functions  may 
be  properly  performed,  and  that  they  may  not  experi- 
ence a  hindrance  where  they  ought  to  find  an  assistance. 
In  the  first  place,  the  general  state  of  the  health  ought 
to  be  good,  or  at  least  tolerable,  in  order  that  the  think- 

151 


152  BODILY  PREPARATION 

ing  power  may  enjoy  instruments  ready  to  receive  its 
impulses,  and  the  will  be  able  easily  to  set  them  in  mo- 
tion. 

A  man  speaks  with  difficulty  when  suffering.  Life 
is  then  checked,  and,  so  to  say,  absorbed  by  the  organs, 
which  diverts  it  from  intellectual  action,  or  at  least 
weakens  its  activity  in  that  respect.  One  may,  doubt- 
less, by  an  effort  of  the  will,  excited  by  circumstances, 
do  violence  to  the  rebellion  or  inertness  of  the  body,  and 
hurl  it  into  action — ^but  never  without  great  fatigue,  an 
exhaustion  of  one's  strength,  and,  later,  its  indisposition 
and  its  decay  entail  a  painful  reaction  after  this  unrea- 
sonable soaring,  so  that  the  higher  the  previous  eleva- 
tion, the  deeper  the  subsequent  fall.  Now  the  orator 
ought  to  spare  a  servant  so  necessary  to  him,  just  as  an 
accomplished  rider  treats  the  generous  steed  whom  he 
might  ruin  on  a  single  occasion  by  over  urging  him. 
\/  \y^  The  orator  should  have  a  strong  constitution;  he 
should  have  a  sound  head,  a  good  digestion,  and,  above 
all,  a  robust  chest,  for  nothing  is  so  fatiguing  or  so  ex- 
hausting as  declamation  when  long  continued.  I  speak 
of  oratorical  declamation,  which  brings  simultaneously 
into  action  the  whole  person,  moral  and  physical — the 
head,  all  the  economy  of  which  is  strained  to  the  utter- 
most by  extemporization;  the  lungs,  which  inhale  and 
respire  with  violence,  frequently  with  a  shock  and  a 
gulp,  according  to  the  discourse ;  the  larynx  which  is  ex- 
panded and  contracted  precipitately;  the  nervous  sys- 
tem which  is  wound  up  to  the  highest  degree  of  sensi- 
bility; the  muscular  system  which  is  keenly  agitated  by 
the  oratorical  stage-play  from  the  sole  of  the  foot  to  the 
tips  of  the  fingers;  and,  finally,  the  blood  which  warms, 
boils,  makes  heart  and  arteries  beat  with  quick  strokes, 
and  shoots  fire  through  the  whole  organization,  till  the 


BODILY  PREPARATION  153 

humors  of  the  body  evaporate  and  stream  in  drops  of 
perspiration  along  the  surface  of  the  skin.  Judge  from 
this  whether,  in  order  to  bear  such  fatigue,  health  and 
vigor  be  required. 

Nevertheless,  there  is  an  illusion  against  which  you 
must  be  on  your  guard;  it  is  that  of  thinking  yourself 
ill  when  you  have  to  speak  in  public,  and  to  mistake  for 
inability  the  often  very  sensible  indisposition  which  you 
experience  when  called  upon  for  a  discourse,  either 
through  the  indolence  which  is  deterred  by  labor  and 
fatigue,  or  on  account  of  the  extreme  emotion  which  is 
felt  at  the  thought  of  appearing  in  public,  an  emotion 
which  produces  on  the  body,  and  on  the  bowels  espe- 
cially, an  effect  reacting  all  over  you.  Your  arms  and 
legs  hang  dead,  you  can  hardly  drag  yourself  along,  or 
even  stand  upright.  There  is  an  oppression  of  the 
respiration,  a  weight  on  the  chest,  and  a  man  experi- 
ences, in  a  fashion  sometimes  very  burdensome,  what 
was  felt  by  the  bravest  of  the  brave  at  the  first  cannon- 
shot.  Many  a  time  do  I  remember  having  found  my- 
self in  this  state  at  the  moment  for  mounting  the  pulpit 
and  while  waiting  for  my  summons.  Could  I  have  only 
fled  away  without  shame,  most  assuredly  I  should  have 
made  off,  and  I  envied  the  lot  of  those  poor  creatures 
who  think  of  nothing  or  of  no  great  matter,  and  who 
know  not  these  agonies  and  lacerations. 

They  who  have  not  the  strength  to  overcome  these 
temptations  and  discouragements  will  never  know  how 
to  speak.  They  will  not  even  have  the  courage  to  ex- 
pose themselves  to  such  trials,  I  may  as  well  say  it,  they 
amount  occasionally  to  such  a  torture  that  a  man  in- 
voluntarily compares  himself  to  a  convict  dragged  to  the 
gallows.  Those  who  have  known  this  state  and  tri- 
imiphed  over  it  are  aware  that  I  do  not  exaggerate. 


J 


154  BODILY  PREPARATION 

Strange!  It  proves  the  contradictions  which  exist  in 
man  as  he  is,  whose  original  constitution  has  been  over- 
thrown by  sin  which  has  set  in  opposition  to  each  other, 
in  one  and  the  same  person,  the  various  elements  which 
ought  to  harmonize  in  the  unity  of  a  single  life.  You 
wish  and  you  do  not  wish  simultaneously;  body  is  at 
war  with  the  mind,  and  their  laws  come  into  collision 
and  into  conflict.  The  soul,  enlightened  by  divine  truth, 
touched  by  charity,  transported  by  the  Spirit  of  God, 
or  by  the  love  of  glory,  desires  to  proclaim  what  it  sees, 
knows,  believes,  feels,  even  in  the  teeth  of  contradiction, 
and  at  the  cost  of  the  greatest  fatigue,  nay,  sometimes 
of  the  sharpest  sufferings;  but  the  body,  like  some  un- 
broken beast,  refuses  to  the  utmost  of  its  power,  and  you 
cannot  get  it  along  save  with  a  bloody  spur.  It  resists 
with  all  its  might,  takes  every  opportunity  of  evasion, 
every  opportunity  to  shake  off  the  reins  which  rule  it 
and  control  its  movements.  A  man  of  spirit  would 
afterwards  be  inconsolable  that  he  should  have  shrunk 
at  the  moment  of  appearing  in  public,  if  duty  obliges 
him  like  a  soldier,  for  having  wavered  at  the  beginning 
of  the  action;  and  yet,  in  the  former  case,  I  can  bear 
witness,  and  perhaps  in  the  latter — I  know  it  not — a  man 
would,  a  hundred  times  over,  surrender  his  task  ere 
-^undertaking  it — if  he  dared. 

I  know  but  one  effectual  remedy  for  this  fear — ^the 
remedy  I  have  already  indicated;  it  is  never  to  mount 
platform  or  pulpit,  save  on  the  call  of  conscience  alone 
— to  fulfill  a  duty,  and  to  put  aside  whatever  is  merely 
personal — glory,  reputation,  public  opinion — ^whatever 
relates  to  self.  A  man  then  goes  forward  as  a  victim 
of  duty,  resigned  to  the  sacrifice,  and  seeking  only  the 
glory  of  Him  to  whom  the  sacrifice  is  offered.  You 
never  succeed  better  than  under  these  conditions,  and 


BODILY  PREPARATION  155 

everybody  is  a  gainer;  the  speaker,  in  calmness,  dignity, 
and  simplicity — the  audience,  in  a  loftier  and  more  pene- 
trating address,  because  it  is  untainted  by  selfishness  and 
almost  above  what  is  merely  human. 

Some  persons  calculate  upon  giving  themselves  cour- 
age by  stimulating  drinks  or  by  a  generous  nourishment. 
A  strange  sort  of  courage  that !  In  war,  where  physical 
force  predominates,  I  can  conceive  such  a  thing — and  it 
is  a  resource  not  to  be  disdained  before  a  battle ;  but  as 
our  business  is  a  battle  of  eloquence,  that  is  of  the 
subtilest,  most  intelligent,  and  most  mental  element  that 
can  be  imagined,  there  is  need  of  another  spirit  rather 
than  the  spirit  of  alcohol  or  of  wine  to  stimulate  the 
faculties  and  warm  the  heart.  Orators  who  have  re- 
course to  such  means  in  order  to  become  capable  of  mov- 
ing their  hearers,  will  never  get  beyond  the  sphere  of 
the  imagination  and  of  the  senses,  and  if  they  ever  have 
any  eloquence,  it  will  be  that  of  the  clubs,  the  taproom, 
and  the  crossroads — an  eloquence  which  has  a  power 
of  its. own,  but  in  the  interest  of  evil  passions. 

Finally,  in  a  physical  respect,  there  are  precautions 
to  be  taken,  relatively  to  such  and  such  an  organ  which, 
from  its  habitual  weakness,  or  its  irritated  stat«  may 
need  repose  or  strengthening.  In  this,  each  personf  must 
manage  according  to  his  temperament,  constitution,  and 
habits.  Some  are  unable  to  speak  fasting,  and  no  won- 
der; for  it  is  indispensable  to  be  well  supported  against 
a  fatigue  so  great.  The  voice  is  weakened,  broken  by 
inanition  or  an  empty  stomach. 

Others,  again,  can  not  speak  after  a  meal,  and  this 
too  is  intelligible;  because  the  labor  of  thinking  draws 
the  blood  to  the  head,  and  defrauds  the  stomach  of  it, 
thus  stopping  digestion — so  that  the  blood  throbs  vio- 
lently in  the  head  and  produces  giddiness.    As  in  all 


156  BODILY  PREPARATION 

other  earthly  cases,  the  right  course  here  is  the  middle 
course.  You  should  have  had  nourishment,  but  in  mod- 
eration; and  you  should  not  speak,  except  before  diges- 
tion has  begun  its  labor,  or  else  after  it  has  so  far  pro- 
ceeded as  not  to  be  any  longer  liable  to  be  arrested. 

Every  one  must  settle  his  own  regimen  of  health  in 
this  matter,  and  nobody  can  know  what  will  agree  with 
him  so  well  as  the  speaker  himself.  He  will  therefore 
do  as  did  the  athletes  of  old,  who  underwent  a  most  rig- 
orous discipline  in  order  that  they  might  be  masters  of 
their  whole  strength  at  the  moment  of  conflict;  and  if 
they  had  this  resolution  who  contend  in  mere  bodily 
strifes,  and  for  perishable  garlands,  what  ought  not  the 
wrestlers  of  eloquence  to  undergo,  whom  the  Almighty 
calls  to  the  battles  of  intelligence,  to  the  proclamation 
and  the  defense  of  truth,  of  justice,  of  excellence,  of 
the  noblest  of  things  of  both  heaven  and  earth,  and  to 
a  share  in  their  deathless  glory ! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    DISCOURSE 

We  have  said  how  the  orator  should  prepare  in  mind, 
heart,  and  even  body,  for  the  great  work  of  addressing 
others;  let  us  now  follow  him  to  his  field  of  action  at 
the  moment  when  he  is  about  to  establish  truth,  or  com- 
bat error  with  the  sword  of  eloquence.  This  is  the  sol- 
emn moment  of  battle. 

For  the  sake  of  greater  clearness  we  will  divide  this 
consideration'  into  six  points,  and  arrange  under  that 
number  of  heads  all  that  we  have  to  say  that  may  be 
the  most  useful.  We  do  not  aim  in  this  laying  down 
any  inviolable  order,  but  merely  at  having  a  frame  to 
unite  and  connect  our  remarks,  our  reflections,  and  the 
results  of  our  experience;  for  we  must  here  repeat  that 
we  have  had  no  intention  of  writing  a  treatise  on  the 
oratorical  art;  our  object  being  merely  to  give  an  ac- 
count to  others  of  what  we  have  done  ourselves,  and 
of  how  we  have  done  it. 

We  shall  speak  serially:  first,  of  the  beginning  of  the 
discourse,  or  exordium;  secondly,  of  the  entry  upon  the 
subject,  or  start;  thirdly,  of  the  realization  of  the  plan, 
or  the  exposition  and  the  progression  of  the  ideas; 
fourthly,  of  the  supreme  (aft  ^decisive)  moment  of  the 
discourse;  fifthly,  dMhe  peroration;  sixthly,  of  ora- 
torical action. 


157 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   BEGINNING   OR   EXORDIUM 

I  TERM  the  beginning  everything  which  the  orator  utters 
from  the  moment  he  opens  his  mouth  to  the  moment 
when  he  not  merely  shows  the  object  of  his  discourse, 
but  enters  into  and  develops  his  subject.  ''What  I 
know  best  is  my  opening,"  says  the  confidant  in  the 
comedy  of  the  Plaideurs.  This  is  true  of  him  who  re- 
cites a  written  discourse;  it  is  not  true  of  him  who  ex- 
temporizes. His  opening  is  that  which  he  knows  worst, 
because  he  is  not  yet  under  way  and  he  has  to  get  so. 

I  am  well  aware  that  it  is  in  one's  power  to  write 
one's  exordium  and  learn  it  by  heart.  It  is  a  useful 
practice  in  certain  cases,  and  for  persons  who  have  the 
habit  of  blending  written  with  extemporary  passages, 
and  of  stepping  alternately  from  what  they  have  learnt 
by  heart  to  what  they  unfold  that  very  instant  from 
their  minds.  There  are  speakers  who  go  through  this 
process  remarkably  well,  and  who  contrive  to  produce  an 
effect  chiefly  by  declamation  prepared  beforehand.  I 
do  not  blame  them  for  it.  The  art  of  speaking  is  so 
difficult  that  you  must  do  in  each  position  what  you 
can,  and  all  is  well  that  ends  well.  Besides,  as  in  every 
applied  theory,  the  art  must  be  made  to  fit  the  talents 
of  each  practitioner.  Minds  are  so  various,  that  what 
suits  one  does  not  suit  another — so  that  here  no  abso- 
lute laws  exist. 

Nevertheless  I  believe  I  may  assert  that  the  true  ora- 

158 


THE  COMMENCEMENT  159 

tor — that  is,  he  who  does  not  recite,  but  who  speaks — 
is  not  inclined  to  employ  this  process,  and  hardly  finds 
it  answer  when  he  has  recourse  to  it.  The  very  most 
he  can  do  is  to  prepare  his  first  sentence,  and  if  he  tries 
to  learn  a  whole  exordium  he  generally  entangles  him- 
self, gets  confused,  and  fares  worse  than  if  he  had  spoken. 
Even  in  his  exordium  he  needs  the  freedom  of  his  paces 
— the  one  thing  indispensable  is  to  keep  well  before  his 
mind  the  exact  enunciation  of  his  subject,  and  as  rigor- 
ous and  simple  a  formula  as  possible  of  the  idea  which 
he  has  to  exhibit.  Here  should  be  no  vagueness  nor 
obscurity,  but  a  clear  intuition  and  an  unhesitating  ex- 
pression. It  is  in  this  that  the  majority  of  would-be 
extemporizers  fail,  because,  for  want  of  reflection  and 
meditation,  they  know  clearly  neither  the  object  of  their 
discourse  nor  the  way  to  treat  it.  They  perceive  it  in 
the  gross  or  approximately,  and  thereupon  they  utter 
common-places,  empty  generalities,  and  turn  continu- 
ally around  and  about  their  subject,  without  ever  once 
going  into  it. 

Those  who  speak  are  in  quite  a  different  position  at 
starting  from  that  of  persons. wKo, recite.  They  are  gen- 
efally  weak  and  rather  obscure  in  thej)pegiijag».. whereas 
the  others  appear  strono^  and  brilliant.  But  it  is  the 
same  with  whatever  has  life  in  nature.  Life  always 
opens  by  an  obscure  point,  hardly  perceptible,  and  pro- 
ceeds from  darkness  to  light.  According  to  Genesis,  all 
things  were  created  from  night  to  morning.  But  life 
grows  and  assumes  organization  little  by  little,  and 
finally  it  blooms  into  all  its  magnificence.  So  with  the 
spoken  address,  which  is  a  something  endued  with  life, 
it  is  bom,  it  grows,  it  assumes  organization  in  the  hear- 
er's  presence. 

For  this  reason,  the  speaker  ought  to  begin  softly. 


I 


160  THE  COMMENCEMENT 

^  modestly,  and  without  any  pompous  announcement  of 
what  is  to  follow.  The  grain  of  mustard-seed,  which  is 
the  smallest  of  seeds,  produces  a  great  tree  in  which  the 
birds  of  heaven  come  and  take  shelter. 

The  exordium  of  an  extemporaneous  discourse  ought 
to  be  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  Its  principal  use 
is  in  laying  the  subject  well  down  and  in  giving  a 
glimpse  of  the  idea  which  has  to  be  developed. 

Unquestionably,  if  circumstances  require  it,  you  may 
also  introduce  certain  oratorical  precautions — insinua- 
tions,, commendations,  and  a  delicate  and  supple  mind 
always  finds  a  way  to  insert  these  things.  But,  gen- 
erally they  clog  that  mind,  because  they  are  outside  of 
its  idea  and  may  divert  it  from  the  idea;  and  as  the 
expressions  are  not  ready  made,  the  mind  runs  a  risk 
of  being  carried  away  from  its  subject  at  the  first  start, 
and  of  missing  its  plan. 

For  the  same  reason,  the  speaker's  voice  will  be  mod- 
erate, nay  a  little  weak  at  first,  and  it  may  happen,  at 
least  in  a  vast  audience,  that  his  first  expressions  are 
not  heard,  or  are  heard  ill.  This  is  of  course  an  incon- 
venience, but  it  cannot  be  helped,  and  it  is  not  without 
its  advantages. 

It  can  not  be  helped,  or  can  scarcely  be  so,  because  as 
he  who  extemporizes  carries  all  his  ideas  in  his  brain, 
and  is  never  quite  sure  of  his  language,  he  always  gets 
into  the  pulpit  or  upon  the  platform  in  a  state  of  deep 
emotion.  Now  it  is  out  of  the  question  to  bawl  when 
in  that  state,  and  it  is  the  most  one  can  do  to  find  voice 
at  all ;  the  mouth  is  dry,  the  tongue  cleaves  to  the  palate 
— ^^vox  faucihus  Jiceref — and  one  can  hardly  articulate. 

Besides,  should  the  orator  force  his  voice  in  the  be- 
ginning, it  will  be  presently  rendered  hoarse,  broken, 
exhausted,  and  it  will  fail  him  before  a  quarter  of  an 


THE  COMMENCEMENT  161 

hour.  You  must  speak  neither  too  loudly  nor  too  fast 
at  first;  or  else  the  violent  and  rapid  expansions  and' 
^ftntracfions  of  the  larynx  force  it  and  falsify  it.  You 
must  husband  your  voice  at  starting  in  order  that  it  may 
last  and  maintain  itself  to  the  end.  When  you  gradu- 
ally strengthen  and  animate  it,  it  does  not  give  way — 
it  remains  clear,  strong,  and  pleasing  to  the  close  of  your 
harangue.  Now  this  is  a  very  important  particular  for 
speaker  and  for  hearers ;  for  the  former,  because  he  keeps 
sound  and  powerful  the  instrument  without  which  he 
can  do  nothing ;  for  the  latter,  because  nothing  tires  them 
more  than  hoarse,  obstreperous,  and  ill-articulated 
sounds. 

The  inconvenience  in  question  has  the  further  advan- 
tage of  establishing  silence  among  the  audience,  espe- 
cially if  it  is  considerable  and  diffused  over  a  vast  space, 
as  in  churches.  At  the  beginning  of  a  sermon,  there 
is  always  noise;  people  taking  their  places,  chairs  or 
benches  turning,  coughs,  pocket  handkerchiefs,  mur- 
murs, a  hubbub  more  or  less  protracted,  which  is  un- 
avoidable in  a  large  assembly  of  persons  settling  them- 
selves. But  if  you  speak  low,  softly,  and  the  audience 
sees  you  speak,  without  hearing  you,  it  will  make  haste 
to  be  still  that  it  may  listen,  and  all  ears  will  be  directed 
more  eagerly  towards  the  pulpit.  In  general,  men  es- 
teem only  what  they  have  not,  or  what  they  dread  los- 
ing, and  the  words  which  they  fear  they  shall  not  be 
able  to  catch,  become  more  valuable. 

For  the  same  reason,  again,  the  bearing  of  the  ex- 
temporaneous speaker  is  modest  and  even  somewhat 
abashed,  as  he  presents  himself  in  the  pulpit,  or  on  the 
platform ;  for  he  almost  invariably  mounts  thither  as  to 
the  place  of  torture,  so  full  is  he  of  anguish,  so  heavy 
feels  the  burden  of  speaking.    Nevertheless,  he  must  be- 


162  THE  COMMENCEMENT 

ware  of  allowing  his  agitation  to  be  too  apparent,  and 
above  all  of  affecting  the  victim.  For  the  rest,  if  he  be 
a  true  orator,  his  countenance,  as  well  as  interior  feel- 
ings, will  soon  change.  He  will  hardly  have  pronounced 
a  few  sentences  ere  all  his  confusion  will  vanish,  the 
mind  will  assert  its  superiority  and  sway  the  body. 
Once  face  to  face,  and  at  grappling  point  with  his  idea, 
he  will  forget  everything  else.  He  will  no  longer  see 
anything  save  the  thought  which  he  has  to  manifest,  the 
feeling  of  his  heart  which  he  has  to  communicate.  His 
voice,  which  just  now  was  so  tremulous  and  broken,  will 
acquire  assurance,  authority,  brilliancy;  if  he  is  rightly 
inspired  that  day,  if  light  from  on  high  beams  in  his 
intelligence  and  warms  his  soul,  his  eyes  will  shoot  light- 
ning, and  his  voice  the  thunderbolt ;  his  countenance  will 
shine  like  the  sun,  and  the  weakness  of  humanity  will 
undergo  its  transfiguration.  He  will  stand  on  the 
Mount  Tabor  of  eloquence. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ENTRANCE   INTO   THE   SUBJECT 

After  the  exordium,  which  should  clearly  and  briefly 
lay  down  the  theme  of  the  discourse,  as  well  as  its  divi- 
sion, if  there  is  occasion,  the  business  must  be  entered 
upon  and  the  development  begun. 

This  is  perhaps  the  hardest  part  of  extemporaneous 
sgeaking,  and  that  in  wliich  it  offers  most  disadvantages. 
The  point  is  to  get  out  of  harm,  and  there  is  but  a  nar- 
row passage  which  it  is  easy  to  miss.  A  favorable  wind 
is  necessary  to  waft  you  into  the  open  sea.  Many  are 
wrecked  in  this  passage,  and  know  not  how  to  get  out 
into  the  open  sea  of  their  subject. 

In  writing  you  have  time  for  reflection,  and  can  ar- 
range at  leisure  the  sequence  of  your  ideas.  Neverthe- 
less, everybody  knows  what  trouble  this  arrangement 
often  costs,  and  how  great  the  perplexity  is  in  catching 
the  exact  thread  of  unravelment,  and  in  distinguishing 
amidst  several  ideas  that  which  commands  the  rest  and 
will  open  a  way  for  them,  as  a  principle  has  its  conse- 
quences and  a  cause  its  efl^ects.  Sometimes  whole  hours 
are  consumed  in  seeking  the  end  of  the  chain,  so  as  to 
unroll  it  suitably,  and  too  often,  as  when  trying  to  dis- 
entangle a  skein  of  thread,  you  proceed  awkwardly  and 
you  complicate,  instead  of  unraveling.  This  is  one  of 
the  chief  annoyances  of  those  who  want  to  write,  espe- 
cially in  the  period  of  impatient,  fancy-ridden  youth, 
when  one  readily  mistakes  whatever  glitters  or  produces 

163 


164  ENTRANCE  INTO  SUBJECT 

effect  for  the  main  point  and  the  thing  essential.  A 
rare  sagacity,  or  else  much  reflection  and  matureness 
are  requisite  to  catch,  at  the  first  glance,  the  true  serial 
connection  of  ideas,  and  to  put  everything  in  its  right 
place,  without  groping  and  without  unsuccessful  trials. 

What  then,  if  you  must  decide  on  the  spot,  without 
hesitation,  without  being  able  *'to  try,"  before  an  audi- 
ence, which  has  its  eyes  riveted  upon  you,  its  ears  in- 
tent, and  its  expectation  eagerly  awaiting  the  words 
that  are  to  fall  from  your  lips?  The  slightest  delay  is 
out  of  the  question,  and  you  must  rush  into  the  arena, 
often  but  half  accoutered  or  ill  armed.  The  moment 
is  come,  you  must  begin  to  speak,  even  though  you  do 
not  exactly  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  nor  whether 
what  you  shall  say  will  lead  precisely  to  the  passage 
which  leads  into  the  open  sea.  There  is  here  a  critical 
instant  for  the  orator,  an  instant  which  will  decide  the 
fate  of  his  discourse. 

No  doubt  he  has  prepared  the  sequence  of  his 
thoughts,  and  he  is  in  possession  of  his  plan.  But  this 
plan  comprises  only  the  leading  ideas  stationed  widely 
apart,  and  in  order  to  reach  the  first  station  from  the 
starting  point,  there  is  a  rush  to  make  and  an  aim  to 
take,  and  therein  lies  the  difiiculty.  The  best  way  is  to 
go  with  resolution  straight  to  the  heart_of„your__sahject, 
the  main  idea,  and  to  disemboweljt,^so  to  speak,diL.iw?der 
to  get  forth  its  entrails  and  lay  them  out.  But  a  man 
has  not  always  the  courage  and  the  strength;  besides 
which,  he  is  afraid  of  being  deficient  in  materials  if  he 
makes  short  work  with  his  exposition,  and  thus  of  break- 
ing down  after  a  while,  without  having  filled  up  the 
time  assigned  or  run  his  due  course.  This  is  a  common 
illusion  among  beginners.  They  are  always  in  dread  of 
wanting  sufficient  materials,  and  either  in  their  plan,  or 


ENTRANCE  INTO  SUBJECT  165 

in  their  discourse,  they  heap  up  all  manner  of  things, 
and  end  by  being  lengthy,  diffuse,  and  confused.  A 
man  is  never  short  of  materials,  when  he  is  in  the  true 
line  of  his  development.  But  he  must  strike  the  rock 
with  the  rod  of  Moses,  and  above  all  he  must  strike  it 
as  God  has  commanded  in  order  that  the  waters  may 
gush  from  it  in  an  inexhaustible  stream.  When  the 
miner  has  touched  the  right  lode,  wealth  abounds. 

Unfortunately,  things  do  not  always  happen  thus.  Too 
often  one  takes  the  first  path  that  offers  to  reach  the 
main  idea,  and  that  path  is  not  always  the  straightest 
nor  the  clearest.  Once  in  the  way,  with  eyes  bent 
towards  the  point  of  destination,  a  man  plies,  not  indeed 
the  oars,  but  words,  in  order  to  attain  the  idea,  and  he 
attains  it  only  by  circuitous  and  tortuous  efforts.  The 
hearer  who  is  following  you  does  not  very  well  see 
whither  you  are  leading  him,  and  if  this  position  con- 
tinues for  a  little  longer,  the  discomfort  of  the  speaker 
gains  upon  the  listeners,  and  a  coldness  is  diffused  with 
the  uneasiness  among  the  assembly. 

Have  you  at  times  contemplated  from  the  shore  a 
white  sail  striving  to  leave  the  roadstead,  and  by  the 
wind's  help  to  gain  the  offing?  It  tacks  in  all  direc- 
tions, to  gain  its  object,  and  when  balked,  it  flutters 
inwards  and  oscillates  without  advancing,  until  at  last 
the  favorable  breeze  distends  it,  and  then  it  passes 
swiftly  over  the  waters,  enters  upon  the  open  sea,  and 
speedily  vanishes  below  the  horizon.  Thus  it  is  with 
the  orator  who  misses  his  right  course  in  the  first  in- 
stance. Eager  to  set  out,  because  it  would  be  discredit- 
able to  stand  still,  he  hoists  his  sail  to  the  first  wind  that 
blows,  and  presently  back  it  sinks  with  the  deceitful 
breeze.  He  tries  another  course  with  as  poor  success, 
and  runs  the  risk  of  either  not  advancing  or  of  taking 


166  ENTEANCE  INTO  SUBJECT 

a  wrong  line.  He  then  makes  for  the  first  image  that 
presents  itself,  and  it  beguiles  him  far  from  his  subject. 
He  would  fain  return,  but  no  longer  knows  his  way.  He 
sees  his  goal  afar,  eluding  him,  as  Ithaca  escaped 
Ulysses,  and  like  Ulysses  he  may  complete  a  very  long 
Odyssey  ere  reaching  it.  Perhaps  he  will  never  get 
thither,  and  that  is  sadder  still. 

There  are  persons  who  speak  for  a  whole  hour,  within 
sight  of  their  subject,  and  yet  can  not  manage  to  enter 
it.  Sometimes,  again,  they  get  at  it  when  they  ought 
to  be  taking  leave  of  it — that  is  when  their  time  is  ex- 
hausted. Hence  interminable  orations  which  tire  the 
hearer  without  either  instructing  or  moving  him;  the 
orator  wears  himself  out  in  utter  futility,  and  his  toil 
is  fruitless.  He  has  plunged  into  a  quagmire ;  the  more 
he  struggles,  the  deeper  he  sinks ;  he  flounders  right  and 
left  to  find  his  road  and  recover  solid  ground,  and  if  he 
gains  it,  it  is  covered  all  over  with  the  mud  through 
which  he  has  waded. 

Horace  says — ^'qui  hene  coepit,  facti  dimidium  habet/^ 
**he  who  has  begun  well,  has  half  done  his  work."  This 
is  perfectly  applicable  to  the  orator,  who  has  well  got 
into  his  matter,  and  who,  after  having  clearly  laid  down 
his  subject,  attacks  it  full  front,  and  takes  up  under- 
standingly  the  thread  of  his  ideas.  He  has  then  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  suffer  his  skiff  to  float  along;  the  very 
current  will  carry  it  on  to  the  destination,  and  the 
strokes  of  his  oars,  and  the  breeze  in  his  sails,  will  be  so 
many  accessorial  means  of  propulsion.  But  if  he  is 
out  of  the  current,  and  still  more,  if  he  is  against  the 
current,  should  the  breeze  fail  him  or  prove  adverse,  the 
more  he  rows  the  less  he  advances.  He  will  lose  time 
and  trouble,  and  fill  with  uneasiness  or  with  pity  those 
who  watch  him  from  the  shore. 


ENTRANCE  INTO  SUBJECT  167 

But  how  begin  well?  How  find  this  thread  of  the 
deep  water,  this  favorable  current,  or,  to  speak  with- 
out metaphor,  the  leading  idea  by  which  a  man  should 
open,  and  which  will  bring  after  it  the  others?  Can  a 
precept  be  given,  a  method  prescribed  for  this  end  ?  No 
precept,  no  method,  avails  anything,  except  in  so  far  as 
one  knows  how  to  apply  them;  and  in  order  to  under- 
stand them  rightly,  and  above  all,  in  order  to  make  use 
of  them  successfully,  what  we  need  is  good  sense,  in- 
telligence, and  an  unwarped,  piercing  mind.  A  man 
should  be  able  to  discern  rapidly  what  is  to  be  done  in 
the  case  which  we  have  just  described — ^he  must  know 
how  to  take  advantage  of  the  rising  breeze  which  can 
help  him,  and  how  to  extricate  himself  from  the  em- 
barrassment in  which  he  is  involved.  There  is  need,  in 
short,  for  the  orator,  as  for  any  other  person  who  has  to 
face  a  danger  or  escape  from  a  disadvantage,  of  both 
mind  and  presence  of  mind — things  not  to  be  taught. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  DEVELOPMENT 

The  speaker  should  have  his  plan  well  fixed,  not  only 
on  paper,  but  in  his  head,  so  as  to  keep  ever  present 
before  his  mind  the  chain  of  the  thoughts,  and  so  as  to 
proceed  successively  from  one  to  the  other  in  the  pre- 
scribed order  of  the  exposition.  The  discourse,  then,  is 
mounted,  as  it  were,  in  a  frame  from  which  it  ought  not 
to  slip,  under  pain  of  digressing  and  diverting,  by  its 
deviations,  the  attention  of  the  hearers  from  the  subject, 
as  a  river  which  overflows  its  bed  sweeps  away  what- 
ever it  meets,  and  spreads  dearth  and  ruin  where  it 
ought  to  have  diffused  refreshment  and  fertility. 

Or  to  speak  more  properly,  the  discourse  which  thus 
overflows  carries  nothing  at  all  with  it  except  those 
wordy  waves  which  beat  upon  the  ears  without  leaving 
behind  them  a  single  idea  or  moving  a  single  feeling. 
Many  of  those  who  are  anxious  to  speak  extemporane- 
ously, and  who  do  not  understand  it,  for  want  of  talent 
or  of  preparation,  are  lost  in  this  manner.  The  current 
of  their  discourse,  which  is  not  kept  within  its  banks, 
gets  every  moment  divided  and  loses  itself  in  emptiness, 
like  those  rivers  with  a  multiplicity  of  mouths,  which 
are  absorbed  by  the  sands. 

It  is  a  highly  important  matter,  then,  to  know  how 
to  confine  oneself  to  one^s  plan — although  one  must  not 
be  such  a  slave  to  it,  as  to  leave  no  room  for  the  new 
thoughts  which  may  occur  at  the  moment.     That  would 

168 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  169 

be  to  deprive  oneself  of  one  of  the  chief  advantages  of 
extemporization — the  inspiration  of  the  moment  and  the 
life  it  gives  to  the  discourse. 

A  man  who  is  accustomed  to  speak  in  public  even 
foresees  to  a  certain  extent — or  rather  he  has  a  presenti- 
ment in  the  matter  not  indeed  of  the  instant  at  which 
he  will  have  this  inspiration,  but  of  the  ideas  which  may 
offer  themselves  in  certain  stages  of  the  development; 
he  catches  sight  of  what  is  involved  in  an  idea  which  he 
has  yet  only  indicated.  It  is  like  a  plunge  of  the  sound- 
ing rod,  dropped  beforehand  into  a  spring,  and  he  care- 
fully recloses  it  until  he  shall  require  to  uncover  it  and 
make  it  gush  forth.  He  would  weaken,  and  perhaps  ex- 
haust it,  were  he  to  pierce  it  during  the  preparatory 
portion;  he  reserves  it  for  the  favorable  moment,  sure 
to  find  there  a  plentiful  well  when  he  pleases. 

But  every  advantage  has  its  drawback.  In  the 
warmth  of  exposition  a  man  is  not  always  master  of  his 
own  words,  and  when  new  thoughts  arise,  they  may 
lead  a  long  way  from  the  subject,  to  which  there  is 
sometimes  a  difficulty  in  returning.  Hence  digressions, 
prolixities,  appendages,  which  cause  the  main  object  to 
be  lost  to  view,  and  wear  out  or  render  languid  the  at- 
tention of  the  audience. 

All  who  extemporize  have  had  this  misfortune  some 
time  or  other.  If  you  do  not  accustom  yourself  to  hold 
with  a  firm  hand  the  thread  of  your  thoughts,  so  that 
you  can  always,  amidst  the  labyrinth  of  the  discourse 
and  the  many  mazes  into  which  you  may  be  drawn,  re- 
cover your  way,  you  will  never  come  to  speak  in  an 
endurable  manner;  and  even  though  you  should  have 
fine  passages,  the  hearer  will  grow  weary  of  your  devi- 
ous style,  and  when  all  is  said  he  will  be  neither  in- 
structed nor  impressed.    You  may  dazzle  him  by  the 


170  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

pomp  of  language,  surprise  him  by  ideas  more  or  less 
ingenious,  nay  amuse  him,  for  a  moment,  by  the  wit 
and  sparkle  of  your  expressions;  but  you  will  not  sug- 
gest one  idea  to  his  mind  nor  instill  a  single  feeling  into 
his  ear,  because  there  will  be  neither  order  nor  unity, 
and  therefore  no  life  in  your  discourse. 

It  is  further  essential  to  beware  of  the  distractions 
which  may  break  the  thread  of  the  exposition,  and 
abruptly  send  the  mind  into  a  totally  different  and  an 
unprepared  channel.  This  is  another  of  the  dangers  at- 
tending extemporization,  which  imperatively  demands 
that  you  should  give  yourself  wholly  to  your  subject, 
and  thus  exclude  from  your  mind  every  extraneous 
image  and  thought — no  easy  task,  when  a  man  stands 
face  to  face  with  a  numerous  assembly,  whose  eyes  from 
all  directions  are  centered  upon  him,  tempting  him  to 
look  at  people,  were  it  only  because  people  are  all  look- 
ing at  him. 

On  this  account  it  is  necessary  that  the  orator  before 
speaking  should  be  collected — he  should  be  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  his  ideas,  and  proof  against  the  interruptions 
and  impressions  which  surround  him.  The  slightest  dis- 
traction to  which  he  yields  may  break  the  chain  of  his 
thoughts,  mar  his  plan,  and  even  sponge  out  of  his  mind 
the  very  remembrance  of  his  subject  itself.  This  ap- 
pears incredible,  and  I  would  not  believe  it  myself  had 
I  not  experienced  it. 

One  day,  I  had  to  preach  in  one  of  the  principal 
churches  of  Paris.  It  was  a  solemn  festival,  and  there 
was  an  immense  audience,  including  part  of  the  Court 
then  reigning.  As  I  was  ascending  the  pulpit  I  per- 
ceived a  person  whom  I  had  supposed  absent,  and  my 
mind  was  carried  away  suddenly  by  a  train  of  recollec- 
tions.   I  reached  the  pulpit-landing,  knelt  down  as  usual, 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  171 

and  when  I  should  have  risen  to  speak,  I  had  forgotten 
not  only  my  text,  but  even  the  subject  of  my  sermon. 
I  literally  knew  no  longer  what  I  had  come  to  speak 
upon,  and,  despite  of  all  my  efforts  to  remember  it, 
I  could  see  nothing  but  one  complete  blank.  My  em- 
barrassment and  anguish  may  be  conceived.  I  re- 
mained on  my  knees  a  little  longer  than  was  customary, 
not  knowing  what  to  do.  Nevertheless,  not  losing  head 
or  heart,  I  looked  full  at  my  danger  without  being  scared 
by  it,  yet  without  seeing  how  I  was  to  get  out  of  it  either. 
At  last,  unable  to  recover  anything  by  my  own  proper 
strength — neither  subject  nor  text — I  had  recourse  to 
God,  and  I  said  to  Him,  from  the  very  bottom  of  my 
heart  and  with  all  the  fervor  of  my  anxiety — * '  Lord  if 
it  be  Thy  will  that  I  preach,  give  me  back  my  plan;" 
and  at  that  instant,  my  text  came  back  into  my  mind, 
and  with  my  text  the  subject.  I  think  that  never  in  my 
life  have  I  experienced  anything  more  astonishing,  nor 
a  more  lively  emotion  of  gratitude. 

At  other  times,  and  this  often  happens,  you  lose  while 
speaking  the  thread  of  your  discourse,  especially  when 
some  new  idea  crosses,  or  if  you  allow  yourself  to  begin 
looking  about  among  the  audience.  You  generally  be- 
come aware  of  it  ere  the  sentence  you  are  uttering  is 
finished;  for  when  you  extemporize,  you  always  see  the 
next  idea  before  you  have  done  with  its  predecessor,  and 
in  order  to  advance  with  certainty  you  must  look  some- 
what forward,  in  order  to  discern  where  you  are  going 
to  plant  your  foot  presently.  Suddenly,  you  can  see 
nothing  before  you,  and  you  are  come  to  the  closing 
member  of  your  period.  If  you  then  become  agitated, 
you  are  lost;  for  anxiety,  far  from  enabling  you  to  re- 
cover your  ideas,  confuses  them  still  more,  and  the  more 
disturbed  you  get,  the  less  capable  are  you  of  retrieving 


172  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

your  plan  and  reentering  the  road.  In  these  cases,  you 
must  calmly,  under  another  form,  with  other  phrases, 
resume  the  same  thought  you  have  just  expressed,  and 
nearly  always  it  recalls  that  which  was  lost;  it  gently 
excites  the  remembrance  of  it,  by  virtue  of  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas  and  of  the  previous  elaboration  of  the  plan. 
But  while  yet  speaking,  you  must  look  inwards  with  the 
whole  sight  of  your  mind,  in  order  to  discern  what  this 
species  of  conjuration  shall  evoke,  and  at  the  slightest 
sign  to  grasp  your  idea  once  more.  All  this  is  not  ef- 
fected without  perplexity  or  without  interior  tribulation. 

There  are  untoward  days,  when  one  is  scarcely  mas- 
ter  of  one's  attention,  and  in  spite  of  the  most  laborious 
preparation  the  plan  refuses  to  fix  itself  in  the  head,  or 
to  stay  there,  escaping  on  one  side  or  on  other,  as  in 
a  sieve;  or  else  something  comes  across  which  throws 
you  out  of  your  way.  It  is  often  the  effect  of  some 
physical  cause — a  nervous  or  a  feverish  state,  arising 
from  atmospheric  influences,  from  the  body's  or  a  sin- 
gle bodily  organ's  indisposition,  and  above  all  from  anx^ 
ieties  of  heart  or  of  mind. 

In  such  cases  there  is  much  difficulty  in  entering  upon 
one's  plan  or  in  keeping  to  it.  Sometimes,  indeed,  one 
does  not  enter  into  it  at  all,  and  one  speaks  at  the  side 
of  it,  so  to  say,  trying  to  catch  it,  and  unable  to  over- 
take it  so  as  to  settle  oneself  therein,  like  a  man  who 
runs  after  the  conveyance  which  was  to  have  carried 
him,  and  who  reaches  the  door  without  being  able  to 
open  it  and  take  his  seat.  This  is  one  of  the  most  fa- 
tiguing situations  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  It  ex- 
hausts alike  the  will,  the  mind,  and  the  body — the  will, 
which  makes  vain  endeavors  to  recapture  a  subject  per- 
petually evading  it;  the  mind,  which  struggles  in  a  des- 
perate wrestle  with  its  own  thoughts;  and  the  body, 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  173 

which  travails  and  sweats,  as  if  to  compensate  by  ex- 
terior agitation  for  the  interior  activity  which  is  de- 
ficient. 

For  the  greatest  possible  avoidance  of  distractions,  I 
will  recommend  a  thing  which  I  have  always  found  suc- 
cessful— that  is,  not  to  contemplate  the  individuals  who 
compose  the  audience,  and  thus  not  to  establish  a  spe- 
cial understanding  with  any  one  of  them.  The  short- 
sighted have  no  need  of  my  recommendation,  but  it  will 
be  useful  to  those  who  see  far,  and  who  may  be  dis- 
turbed by  some  sudden  impression  or  some  movement 
of  curiosity.  As  for  myself  I  carefully  avoid  all  ocular 
contact  with  no  matter  whom,  and  I  restrict  myself  to 
a  contemplation  of  the  audience  as  a  whole — ^keeping  my 
looks  above  the  level  of  the  heads.  Thus  I  see  all,  and 
distinguish  nobody,  so  that  the  entire  attention  of  my 
mind  remains  fastened  upon  my  plan  and  my  ideas. 

I  do  not,  however,  advise  an  imitation  of  Bourdaloue, 
who  closed  his  eyes  while  delivering  his  sermon,  lest  his 
memory  should  fail,  or  some  distraction  sweep  away  part 
of  his  discourse.  It  is  a  great  disadvantage  to  shut  the 
eyes  while  speaking ;  for  the  look  and  its  play  are  among 
the  most  effectual  means  of  oratorical  action.  It  darts 
fire  and  light,  it  radiates  the  most  vital  energy,  and  peo- 
ple understand  the  orator  by  looking  at  him  and  follow- 
ing the  play  of  his  eyes  almost  as  weU  as  by  listening 
to  his  voice  and  words. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE 

I  GIVE  this  name  to  the  moment  when  the  speech  pro- 
duces its  highest  effect,  by  piercing  and  mastering  the 
hearer's  soul  either  with  the  light  which  it  imparts,  or 
the  feelings  which  it  arouses.  The  listener  is  at  that 
solemn  instant  won,  and  remains  passive  under  the  in- 
fluence which  touches  and  vivifies.  But  in  order  to 
understand  this  state,  it  is  necessary  to  consider  closely, 
and  in  their  respective  relations,  the  two  poles  which 
speaking  instantaneously  unites  for  the  achievement  of 
its  end. 

Eloquence  has  this  peculiarity  which  distinguishes  it 
from  other  arts,  that  it  is  always  through  the  intelli- 
gence it  reaches  the  heart — ^that  is,  it  is  by  means  of  the 
idea  which  it  engenders  or  gives  birth  to;  and  this  is 
what  makes  it  the  most  excellent,  the  most  profound 
of  arts,  because  it  takes  possession  of  the  whole  man  and 
can  neither  charm,  nor  move,  nor  bear  him  along,  ex- 
cept by  enlightening  him  and  causing  him  to  think.  It 
is  not  a  matter  of  mere  sensibility,  imagination,  or  pas- 
sion, as  in  music  and  painting,  which  may  produce  great 
effects  without  thought  having  a  predominant  share  in 
them,  although  those  arts  themselves  have  a  loftier  and 
a  wider  range  in  proportion  as  the  intelligence  plays  a 
greater  part,  and  ideas  exercise  a  higher  sway  in  their 
operations. 

Yet  in  music  and  in  the  plastic  arts,  ideas  are  so 

174 


CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE  175 

blended  with  form  and  so  controlled  by  it,  that  it  is 
very  difficult  to  abstract  them,  from  it,  with  a  view  of 
testing  their  value  and  analyzing  them;  they  flow  with 
the  form  which  is  their  vehicle,  and  you  could  scarcely 
translate  them  into  any  intelligible  or  precise  language. 
Hence  the  vagueness  of  these  arts,  and  particularly  of 
music ;  a  fact  which  does  not  prevent  it  from  exercising 
a  powerful  effect  at  the  very  moment  of  the  impression, 
which,  however,  is  transient,  and  leaves  little  behind  it. 
It  vanishes  almost  as  soon  as  the  sounds  which  have  pro- 
duced it  cease. 

In  eloquence,  on  the  contrary,  the  form  is  subordinate 
to  the  idea.  In  itself  it  possesses  little  to  dazzle  or  to 
charm — it  is  articulate  language,  which  certainly  is  far 
less  agreeable  than  language  sung,  or  melody.  However 
sonorous  the  voice  of  the  speaker,  it  will  never  charm  the 
ear  like  a  musical  passage,  and  even  the  most  graceful 
or  the  most  energetic  oratorical  action  can  never  have 
the  elegance,  harmony,  or  finish  which  the  painter  or  the 
sculptor  is  able  to  give  to  the  bodies  of  the  characters 
whom  he  represents.  Notwithstanding  which  the  tones 
and  action  of  the  speaker  often  produce  astonishing 
effects  on  those  who  hear  him,  which  are  lost  in  reading 
what  he  has  said,  or  in  his  written  discourse. 

It  follows  that  eloquence  has  its  own  artistic  or 
aesthetical  side,  besides  that  idea  which  it  is  its  business 
to  convey.  But  it  relies  much  more  on  the  idea  than  do 
the  other  arts,  so  that  the  absence  or  the  feebleness  of 
the  idea  is  much  more  felt  in  it,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
be  a  great  orator  without  possessing  a  lofty  intelligence 
and  great  power  of  thought;  whereas  a  man  may  be  a 
distinguished  musician,  painter,  or  sculptor  without  any 
brilliant  share  of  these  endowments;  which  amounts  to 
this,  that  eloquence  is  the  most  intellectual  of  the  arts, 


176  CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE 

and  whose  exercise  requires  the  mightiest  faculties  of 
the  mind. 

Whence,  again,  it  follows — and  it  is  to  this  we  would 
come — that  eloquence  is  the  profoundest  and  the  most 
difficult  of  arts,  on  account  of  the  end  at  which  it  aims, 
which  is  not  merely  to  charm,  please,  or  amuse,  tran- 
siently, but  to  penetrate  into  the  soul,  that  it  may  move 
and  change  the  will,  may  excite  or  may  prevent  its  ac- 
tion by  means  of  the  ideas  which  it  engenders,  or,  as  it 
is  expressed  in  rhetorical  treatises,  by  convincing  and 
persuading.  The  true  end  of  the  orator  is  to  make  him- 
self master  of  souls,  guiding  them  by  his  mind,  causing 
them  to  think  as  he  thinks,  and  thus  imparting  to  their 
wills  the  movements  and  direction  of  his  own. 

I  well  know  that  the  multitude  may  be  stirred  and 
carried  away  by  fine  phrases,  by  brilliant  images,  and 
above  all  by  bursts  of  voice  and  a  vehement  action,  with- 
out any  great  amount  of  ideas  at  the  root.  The  orator, 
in  this  instance,  acts  after  the  manner  of  music,  which 
produces  feelings  and  sometimes  deeds,  without  thoughts. 
But  what  is  sufficient  in  music  is  at  the  very  utmost  but 
half  of  what  eloquence  requires,  and  although  it  may 
indeed  produce  some  effect  in  this  way,  it  remains  be- 
neath itself,  and  loses  in  dignity.  It  is  sonorous  but 
empty;  it  is  a  sounding  cymbal,  or,  if  the  comparison 
be  liked  better,  it  is  a  scenic  decoration,  which  produces 
a  momentary  illusion,  and  leaves  little  behind  it. 

Eloquence  is  not  worthy  of  its  name,  and  fulfills  not 
its  high  vocation,  except  in  so  far  as  it  sways  the  human 
will  by  intelligence,  determining  its  resolutions  in  a  man- 
ner suitable  to  a  rational  and  free  being,  not  by  mere 
sensible  impressions,  or  by  sallies  of  passion,  but,  above 
all,  by  the  aspect  of  truth,  by  convictions  of  what  is  just 
and  right,  that  is,  by  the  idea  of  them  which  it  gives. 


CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE  177 

or  rather,  which  it  ought  to  engender,  develop,  and 
bring  to  life  in  the  soul. 

In  a  word,  everything  in  the  discourse  is  reducible 
to  this  point — that  the  hearer  should  be  made  to  conceive 
what  the  orator  understands,  and  as  he  understands  it, 
in  order  that  he  may  feel  what  the  orator  feels  and  will 
what  he  wills;  in  other  words,  that  an  idea  should  be 
engendered  in  the  understanding  of  the  hearer  similar 
to  the  idea  of  the  speaker,  in  order  that  their  hearts  as 
well  as  their  minds  may  be  in  unison.  There  lies  the 
difficulty,  and  they  who  can  overcome  it  are  indeed  elo- 
quent. 

But  there  are  many  things  required  for  this — or,  to 
put  it  in  another  way,  there  are,  in  the  operation  which 
the  orator  has  no  effect,  several  stages  or  degrees  which 
are  known  to  all  who  speak  in  public,  or  of  which  at 
least  they  have  had  experience,  even  if  they  have  not 
categorically  explained  them  to  themselves. 

The  first  stage  is  that  in  which  the  audience  is  won 
— the  speaker  commands  it. 

The  second  is  that  in  which  his  address  enters  the 
hearer  *s  soul,  and  makes  him  conceive  the  idea. 

The  third  is  like  the  organization  of  this  conception. 

The  hearer  who  has  conceived  the  idea  makes  one  with 
the  orator  in  mind  and  will — there  is  but  one  soul  be- 
tween them — it  is  the  completion  of  the  work  by  which 
the  speaker  takes  possession  of  him  whom  he  has  moved 
and  convinced. 

Let  us  consider  these  three  stages. 

To  win  the  hearer  is  to  seize  his  attention,  and  so  to 
fix  it  that  he  shall  listen  without  effort,  and  even  with 
pleasure  to  what  is  said,  opening  his  mind  for  its  re- 
ception and  absorption,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
thought,  image,  or  sensation  which  may  arise.    Now 


178  CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE 

this  capture  of  mind  by  a  discourse  is  no  easy  matter, 
and  it  sometimes  requires  a  considerable  time  and  sus- 
tained exertions  to  obtain  it.  At  other  times,  it  is  ef- 
fected at  once,  at  the  first  words,  whether  on  account 
of  the  confidence  inspired  by  the  speaker,  or  of  the  lively 
interest  of  the  subject  and  the  curiosity  which  it  ex- 
cites, or  for  whatever  reason  else.  It  is  hard  to  give  a 
recommendation  in  this  respect,  seeing  the  great  diver- 
sity of  circumstances  which  may  in  this  case  exercise  a 
favorable  or  an  adverse  influence;  but  this  we  may 
safely  assert,  that  you  must  attain  this  point  in  order 
to  produce  any  impression  by  your  speech. 

There  are  few  who  know  how  to  listen;  it  presup- 
poses a  great  desire  for  instruction,  and  therefore  a  con- 
sciousness of  one's  ignorance,  and  a  certain  mistrust  of 
one's  self,  which  springs  from  modesty  or  humility — the 
rarest  of  virtues.  Besides,  listening  demands  a  certain 
strength  of  will,  which  makes  a  person  capable  of  di- 
recting the  mind  to  one  point  and  there  keeping  it 
despite  of  every  distraction.  Even  when  you  are  alone 
with  a  serious  book,  what  trouble  you  have  in  concen- 
trating your  attention  so  as  to  comprehend  what  you 
are  reading.  And  if  the  perusal  be  protracted,  what  a 
number  of  things  escape  and  have  to  be  read  over  again ! 
What  will  it  not  be,  then,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  in 
which  you  are  assailed  on  all  hands  by  a  variety  of  im- 
pressions ? 

Besides,  each  individual  comes  with  a  different  dis- 
position, with  different  anxieties  or  with  prejudices  in 
proportion  to  age,  condition,  and  antecedents.  Imagine 
several  hundreds,  several  thousands,  of  persons  in  an 
audience,  and  you  have  as  many  opinions  as  there  are 
heads,  as  many  passions  as  there  are  interests  and  sit- 
uations,  and   in   all   this   great   crowd   few   agree   in 


CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE  179 

thoughts,  feelings,  and  desires.  Each  muses  on  this 
matter  or  on  that,  desires  one  thing  or  another,  has 
such  or  such  prepossessions;  when  lo!  in  the  midst  of 
all  these  divergences,  of  all  these  contrarieties,  I  rise,  a 
man,  mount  pulpit  or  platform,  and  have  to  make  all 
attend  in  order  to  make  all  think,  feel,  and  will  just 
as  I  do.  Truly  it  is  a  stupendous  task,  and  one  which 
cannot  be  achieved  except  by  a  power  almost  above  hu- 
manity. 

Rhetoricians  say  that  the  exordium  should  be  devoted 
to  this  purpose.  It  is  at  the  outset  that  you  should  en- 
deavor to  captivate  the  mind  and  to  attach  it  to  the  sub- 
ject, either  by  forcibly  striking  it  by  surprise,  as  in 
the  exordium  ex  abrupt o,  or  in  dexterously  winning  good 
will,  as  in  the  exordium  **of  insinuation."  All  this  is 
true,  but  the  precept  is  not  easy  to  reduce  to  practice. 
It  is  tantamount  to  saying  that  in  order  to  make  a  good 
beginning  a  great  power,  or  a  great  adroitness,  in  speak- 
ing is  required.    Who  shall  give  us  this? 

The  first  moments  of  the  discourse  are  generally  very 
difficult  to  the  orator,  not  only  on  account  of  the  trouble 
he  experiences  in  setting  out,  in  laying  down  and  devel- 
oping his  subject,  as  we  just  now  showed,  but  also  on 
account  of  the  necessity  of  making  his  audience  set  out ; 
and  here  h^e  meets  at  starting,  either  the  resistance  of 
inertness,  the  indolence  loth  to  take  the  pains  of  lis- 
tening, or  else  the  levity  which  flies  off  each  instant, 
or  else  the  latent  or  the  express  opposition  of  some  ad- 
verse prejudice,  or  interest.  He  has,  therefore,  to 
wrestle  with  his  hearer  in  order  to  overcome  him,  and 
in  this  he  is  not  always  successful. 

Until  everybody  has  taken  his  place  and  settled  him- 
self well  in  it,  and  then  has  coughed,  cleared  his  throat, 
blown  his  nose,  and  made  a  stir  as  long  as  he  decently 


180  CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE 

can  in  his  situation,  the  poor  orator  speaks  more  or  less 
in  the  midst  of  noise,  or  at  least  of  a  half -repressed  dis- 
turbance, which  hinders  his  words,  at  first,  from  having 
any  effect  upon  the  mind.  They  penetrate  nowhere, 
they  return  to  him,  and  he  is  tempted  to  give  way  to 
discouragement,  especially  in  large  assemblies  where 
there  are  all  sorts  of  people,  as  at  a  sermon.  If  he 
waver,  he  is  undone,  he  will  never  become  master  of  his 
hearers,  and  his  discourse  will  be  powerless. 

What  will  sustain  him  is,  first  of  all,  a  lively  sense  of 
the  mission  intrusted  to  him,  of  the  duty  he  has  to  ful- 
fill— and,  in  the  next  place,  that  something  which  is  pe- 
culiar to  the  strong  man,  and  by  which  he  derives  ex- 
citement from  opposition  or  difficulty,  and  enthusiasm 
from  the  strife.  The  more  resistance  they  meet,  the 
more  they  endeavor  to  prevail,  the  more  they  desire  vic- 
tory— it  is  one  of  valor  ^s  spurs  in  the  conflict.  Again, 
what  is  very  useful  to  him  in  this  emergency  is  the 
authority  of  speech  which  soon  asserts  a  kind  of  as- 
cendancy over  the  hearer — a  sympathetic  something  in 
the  voice  which  pleases  the  ear  and  reaches  the  heart, 
or  else  a  certain  pungency  of  pronunciation  and  accent 
which  wins  the  attention. 

By  these  means,  and  those  of  which  we  before  spoke, 
and  above  all  by  help  from  on  high,  you  succeed  more 
or  less  quickly  in  seizing  upon  your  audience,  in  com- 
manding it,  in  winning  it,  in  chaining  it,  so  to  say,  to 
your  discourse,  so  that  all  minds,  rallying  in  a  common 
attention,  converge  towards  a  single  point,  and  appear 
to  hang  on  the  speaker's  lips,  while  all  eyes  are  fixed 
upon  him.  Then  is  established  that  solemn  stillness 
upon  which  the  life  of  speaking  is  conditional.  No  more 
fidgetings  on  chair  or  bench;  no  more  nose-blowing,  no 
more  throat-clearing;  even  colds  are  cured  as  if  by 


CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE  181 

magic,  and  in  the  absence  of  all  noisy  sounds,  there  is 
nothing  to  be  heard  save  the  respiration  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  the  voice  of  the  orator,  as  it  arises,  prevails, 
and  diffuses  itself.     The  assembly  is  won — it  listens. 

Second. — Now  alone  can  be  achieved  the  task  of  elo- 
quence which  is  to  engender  in  the  hearer  the  requisite 
idea,  so  as  to  make  him  conceive  and  feel  what  it  enun- 
ciates. 

Here,  as  in  all  conceptions,  there  are  two  poles,  the 
one  active,  which  transmits  life,  the  other  passive,  which 
conceives  by  admitting  it ;  and  conception  is  effected  by 
their  interpenetration.  Such  is  the  operation  when  all 
looks  are  bent,  strained,  towards  the  orator,  every  mind 
is  open  to  welcome  and  absorb  his  words  with  all  its 
powers,  and  those  words  sink  into  and  fertilize  it  by 
their  virtue.  It  is  thus  that  ideas  are  produced  by  in- 
struction, which  is  a  real  fertilization  and  a  nourishment 
of  the  intelligence;  for  ^^man  lives  not  by  bread  alone, 
but  by  every  word  of  truth.'' 

This  is  the  most  momentous  period  of  the  discourse, 
what  we  term  the  crisis,  or  supreme  effort  of  speaking; 
it  is  truth  itself,  it  is  He  who  calls  Himself  *'the  way, 
the  truth,  and  the  life,"  who,  by  the  mouth  of  his  min- 
ister, or  of  some  man  of  his  choice,  acts  upon  the  soul, 
pierces  it,  and  makes  a  settlement  therein,  that  it  may 
become  as  a  throne  where  He  loves  to  sit,  as  a  sanctuary 
which  He  is  pleased  to  inhabit,  as  a  mirror  in  which  He 
reflects  Himself  with  pre'dilection,  as  a  torch  by  which 
He  desires  to  shine  and  to  diffuse  his  light. 

In  the  physical  world  wherever  there  is  the  communi- 
cation and  reproduction  of  life,  it  is  also  the  Living  God 
who  ACTS ;  whereas  the  men,  the  animals,  and  the  plants 
which  are  employed  in  this  great  operation  are  merely 
organs  and  implements  in  the  work.     This  is  why  the 


182  CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE 

Gospel  declares  that  there  is  but  one  Father,  He  from 
whom  all  paternity  is  derived  in  heaven  and  on  earth; 
as  He  alone  is  good,  because  He  is  the  source  of  every 
good,  and  He  alone  is  Master  and  Lord,  because  He  is 
truth. 

It  is  just  the  same,  and  for  still  greater  reason,  in  the 
moral  world,  or  in  the  communication  of  intellectual 
life.  It  is  an  operation  performed  according  to  the 
same  laws — and  on  this  account,  he  who  instructs  or 
effects  a  mental  genesis  (the  true  meaning  of  the  word 
*' instruct") — that  person  also  is  a  father  intellectually, 
and  it  is  the  noblest  and  most  prolific  species  of  pa- 
ternity. 

Such  is  the  sublime  mission  of  the  orator,  such  the 
high  function  which  he  discharges.  When  he  circulates 
a  living  word,  it  is  a  transmission  of  life,  it  is  a  repro- 
duction and  multiplication  of  truth  in  the  souls  of  others 
whom  he  intellectually  vivifies,  as  a  father  his  offspring 
according  to  the  flesh.  As  He  whose  image  and  instru- 
ment he  is,  diffuses  His  light,  warmth,  and  life  over  all 
creatures,  so  the  orator,  filled  with  inspiration,  instils 
upon  the  spot  into  thousands  of  hearers  the  light  of  his 
word,  the  warmth  of  his  heart,  and  the  life  of  his  soul. 
He  fertilizes  all  these  intelligences  at  once;  and  this  is 
why,  as  soon  as  the  rays  of  his  discourse  have  entered 
them  and  imparted  to  them  the  new  conception,  they 
make  but  one  soul  with  him,  and  he  is  master  of  that 
soul,  and  pours  into  it  virtue  from  on  high. 

They  all  live  in  unison  at  that  important  moment, 
identified  by  the  words  which  have  mastered  them. 

This  critical  instant  of  the  discourse,  when  the  su- 
preme effort  of  eloquence  is  achieved,  is  accordingly 
marked  by  the  profoundest  emotion  of  which  men  are 
susceptible,  that  which  always  attends  the  communica- 


CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE  183 

tion  of  life,  and  in  this  case  by  so  much  the  more  re- 
plete with  happiness  as  the  life  of  the  intellect  is  more 
pare,  and  less  remote  from  Him  who  is  its  source. 
Hence  that  exquisite  feeling,  to  which  no  other  is  to  be 
compared,  which  the  orator  experiences  when  his  words 
enter  into  and  vivify  the  minds  of  his  audience;  and 
hence  also  the  sweet  impressions  of  which  these  last  are 
conscious  when  they  receive  the  spirit  of  the  word  and 
by  it  are  nourished. 

Third. — ^When  the  orator  has  thus  penetrated  into 
the  hearer's  soul  by  the  radiation  of  his  speech,  animat- 
ing that  soul  with  its  life,  he  becomes  master  of  it,  im- 
presses, moves,  and  turns  it  at  will,  without  effort,  in 
the  simplest  manner,  by  a  word,  a  gesture,  an  exclama- 
tion, nay  silence  itself.  The  fact  is,  he  possesses  the 
hearer's  heart;  it  is  open  to  him,  and  there  is  between 
them  an  intimate  communication  which  has  scarcely  any 
further  need  of  exterior  means.  Thus  it  is  with  two  per- 
sons who  love  each  other  dearly,  and  who  have  confi- 
dence in  each  other;  they  understand  each  other,  with- 
out speaking,  and  the  feeling  which  animates  and  unites 
them  is  so  intimate  and  so  sweet  that  language  is  power- 
less to  express  it,  and  they  need  it  no  longer  to  make 
themselves  mutually  understood. 

Everything,  then,  is  in  the  orator's  power  when  he 
has  thus  won  his  audience,  and  he  ought  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  power  which  is  given  to  him  temporarily, 
to  complete  his  work,  and  to  develop  and  organize  in 
the  minds  of  the  listeners  the  idea  to  which  he  has  given 
birth ;  this  is  the  third  stage  of  his  undertaking. 

Strike  the  iron  while  it  is  hot,  says  the  proverb.  In 
the  present  instance  there  is  something  more  than  iron 
and  better  than  iron  to  forge  and  fashion;  there  is  the 
young  Life  which  eloquence  has  called  forth  to  develop, 


184  CRISIS  OF  THE  DISCOURSE 

in  order  that  the  conceived  idea  may  take  shape  in  the 
understanding,  and  influence  the  will — partly  through 
the  emotion  which  it  has  produced,  and  partly  through 
the  intellectual  views  which  furnish  the  will  with  mo- 
tives, as  feeling  and  passion  supply  it  with  incentives. 
Eloquence  would  miss  its  aim,  if  it  failed  to  lead  the 
hearer  to  some  act  by  which  the  idea  is  to  be  realized. 
It  is  in  this  last  stage,  then,  that  the  practical  part  of 
the  discourse  should  be  placed  along  with  the  application 
of  deductions.  In  these  must  the  speaker  reap  the 
fruits  of  his  labor.  After  having  imparted  his  feelings 
and  thoughts  to  the  listener,  he  must  also  make  them 
partakers  of  his  will.  He  must  imprint  his  personality 
upon  them,  fashion  them  in  his  resemblance,  so  that 
they  shall  feel,  think,  and  will  as  he  does,  in  the  interest 
of  that  truth  and  excellence  of  which  he  has  brought 
home  to  them  the  manifestation.  He  must  not  take 
leave  of  his  audience  till  he  has  touched,  convinced,  and 
carried  it  away.  It  is  in  the  peroration,  as  we  are  about 
to  see,  that  the  seal  must  be  set  to  the  work,  and  that  it 
must  receive  its  plenary  completeness. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    CLOSE    OF    THE    DISCOURSE,    OR    PERORATION 

If  it  is  difficult  to  begin,  when  one  extemporizes,  it  is 
still  more  difficult  to  finish — that  is,  to  finish  well.  Most 
orators  spoil  their  speeches  by  lengthiness,  and  prolix- 
ity is  the  principal  disadvantage  of  extemporaneous 
speaking.  In  it,  more  than  in  any  other,  one  wants  time 
to  be  brief,  and  there  is  a  perpetual  risk  of  being  car- 
ried away  by  the  movement  of  the  thoughts  or  the  ex- 
pressions. 

It  sometimes  happens,  unfortunately,  that  you  are 
barely  into  your  subject  when  you  should  end;  and  then, 
with  a  confused  feeling  of  all  that  you  have  omitted,  and 
a  sense  of  what  you  might  still  say,  you  are  anxious  to 
recover  lost  ground  in  some  degree,  and  you  begin  some 
new  development  when  you  ought  to  be  concluding.  This 
tardy,  and  unseasonable,  yet  crude  after-growth  has  the 
very  worst  effect  upon  the  audience  which,  already  fa- 
tigued, becomes  impatient  and  listens  no  longer.  The 
speaker  loses  his  words  and  his  trouble,  and  everything 
which  he  adds  by  way  of  elucidating  or  corroborating 
what  he  has  said  spoils  what  has  gone  before,  destroying 
the  impression  of  it.  He  repeats  himself  unconsciously, 
and  those  who  still  listen  to  him  follow  him  with  uneasi- 
ness, as  men  watch  from  shore  a  bark  which  seeks  to 
make  port  and  cannot.  It  is  a  less  evil  to  turn  short 
round  and  finish  abruptly  than  thus  to  tack  incessantly 

185 


186  THE  CONCLUSION 

without  advancing.  For  the  greatest  of  a  speaker's  mis- 
fortunes is  that  he  should  bore. 

The  bored  hearer  becomes  almost  an  enemy.  He  can 
no  longer  attend,  and  yet,  at  that  moment,  he  is  unable 
to  think  of  anything  else.  His  mind  is  like  an  overladen 
stomach  which  requires  rest,  and  into  which  additional 
aliment  is  thrust  despite  of  its  distaste  and  repugnance ; 
it  needs  not  much  to  make  it  rise,  rebel,  and  disgorge  the 
whole  of  what  it  has  received.  An  unseasonable  or  awk- 
ward speaker  inflicts  a  downright  torture  on  those  who 
are  compelled  to  hear  him,  a  torture  that  may  amount 
to  sickness  or  a  nervous  paroxysm.  Such  is  the  state 
into  which  a  too  lengthy  discourse,  and,  above  all,  a 
never-ending  peroration,  plunge  the  audience.  It  is  easy 
to  calculate  the  dispositions  which  it  inspires  and  the 
fruit  it  produces. 

Sometimes — and  I  humbly  confess  that  I  here  speak 
from  experience — the  orator  is  still  more  unfortunate,  if 
that  were  possible.  He  wants  to  finish,  and  no  longer 
knows  how,  like  a  man  who  seeks  to  quit  a  house  in 
danger,  and  finds  all  the  doors  shut;  he  runs  right  and 
left  to  discover  an  escape,  and  strikes  against  dead  walls. 
Meanwhile  time  presses,  and  the  impatience  of  the  pub- 
lic betrays  itself  by  a  repressed  disturbance,  some  rising 
to  go  away,  some  moving  on  their  seats  to  relieve  them- 
selves, while  a  confused  hum  ascends  towards  the  speaker 
— a  too  certain  token  that  he  is  no  longer  attended  to, 
and  that  he  is  speaking  to  the  air,  which  fact  only 
increases  his  agitation  and  perplexity.  At  last,  as 
everything  has  an  end  in  this  world,  he  reaches 
his  conclusion  after  some  fashion  or  other,  and  war- 
weary,  either  by  catching  hold  of  the  common-place 
wind-up  about  eternal  life,  should  he  be  preaching,  or, 
under   other    circumstances,    by   some   panting   period 


THE  CONCLUSION  187 

whicli  has  the  air  of  expressing  a  feeling  or  a  thought, 
and  which  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  fills  the  ear  with 
sonorous  and  empty  words.  And  thus  the  poor  orator 
who  could  do  better,  and  who  is  conscious  that  he  has 
done  ill,  retires,  with  lowly  mien,  much  confused,  and 
vowing,  though  rather  late,  that  they  shall  not  catch  him 
in  that  way  any  more. 

Alas !  yet  again,  perhaps  shall  they  so  catch  him,  even 
after  the  most  laborious  preparation;  for  there  is  noth- 
ing so  fitful  as  eloquence.  It  needs  but  an  omission,  a 
distraction  to  break  the  thread  of  the  ideas  and  launch 
you  into  void  or  darkness,  and  then  you  grope  in  a  for- 
est, or  rather  struggle  amid  a  chaos.  It  is  a  true  ora- 
torical discomfiture  and  rout ;  and  I  have  remarked  that 
it  happens  most  when  one  is  most  sure  of  oneself  and 
hopes  to  produce  the  greatest  effect.  These  are  lessons 
which  He,  who  exalts  the  humble  and  abases  the  proud, 
is  pleased  occasionally  to  give  public  speakers,  so  prone 
to  be  elated  by  success  and  to  ascribe  to  themselves  its 
credit  and  its  glory.  Happy  are  they  if  they  profit  by 
them. 

There  is  a  way  of  concluding  which  is  the  most  simple, 
the  most  rational,  and  the  least  adopted.     True,  it  gives 
little  trouble  and  affords  no  room  for  pompous  sentences, 
and  that  is  why  so  many  despise  it,  and  do  not  even  give 
it  a  thought.    It  consi^ts_merfily..oi  wiiidin.g_up,_by_.a_. 
rapid  recapitulation  of  the  whole  discourse,  presenting 
in  sumjwhat  has_been_deveiopedjn  the  various  parts7so_ 
as  to  enunciate  only^jthe  ie,ading-ideas-with  their  connec- 
tion — a  process  which  gives  the  opportunity  of  a  nervous_ 
and  lively  summary,  foreshortening  all  that ^has~been 
stated,  and  making  the  remembrance  and-profitable  ap- 
plicatio^_of  jt.easy. 

And  since  you  have  spoken  to  gain  some  point,  to  con- 


188  THE  CONCLUSION 

vince  and  persuade  your  hearer,  and  thus  influence  his 
will  by  impressions  and  considerations,  and  finally  by 
some  paramount  feeling  which  must  give  the  finishing 
stroke  and  determine  him  to  action,  the  epitome  of  the 
ideas  must  be  itself  strengthened,  and,  as  it  were,  ren- 
dered living  by  a  few  touching  words,  which  inspirit  the 
feeling  in  question  at  the  last  moment,  so  that  the  con- 
vinced and  affected  auditor  shall  be  ready  to  do  what  he 
is  required. 

Such,  in  my  mind,  is  the  best  peroration,  because  it  is 
alike  the  most  natural  and  the  most  efficacious.  It  is  the 
straight  aim  of  the  discourse,  and  as  it  issues  from  the 
very  bowels  of  the  subject  and  from  the  direct  intention 
of  the  speaker,  it  goes  right  to  the  soul  of  the  listener 
and  places  the  two  in  unison  at  the  close. 

I  am  aware  that  you  may,  and  with  success,  adopt  a 
different  method  of  concluding,  either  by  some  pungent 
things  which  you  reserve  for  your  peroration,  and  which 
tend  to  maintain  to  the  last  and  even  to  reawaken  the  at- 
tention of  the  audience;  or  else  by  well-turned  periods 
which  flatter  the  ear  and  excite  all  sorts  of  feelings,  more 
or  less  analogous  to  the  subject — or  in  fine,  by  any  other 
way.  Undoubtedly  there  are  circumstances  in  which 
these  oratorical  artifices  are  in  keeping,  and  may  prove 
advantageous  or  agreeable;  I  do  not  reject  them,  for  in 
war  all  means,  not  condemned  by  humanity  and  honor, 
and  capable  of  procuring  victory,  are  allowable — and 
public  speaking  is  a  real  conflict;  I  merely  depose  that 
the  simplest  method  is  also  the  best,  and  that  the  others, 
belonging  more  to  art  than  to  nature,  are  rather  in  the 
province  of  rhetoric  than  of  true  eloquence. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AFTER   THE   DISCOURSE 

It  should  seem  as  if  all  had  been  said,  once  the  discourse 
is  concluded;  and  yet  we  will  add  a  few  words  in  the 
physical  and  moral  interest  of  the  speaker,  we  will  point 
out  to  him  various  precautions  which  may  appear  futile 
to  certain  persons,  and  may  prove  serviceable  to  others; 
at  least  we  have  always  found  our  own  account  in  having 
adopted  them. 

On  quitting  the  pulpit,  the  platform,  or  any  other 
place  where  you  have  been  speaking  for  a  considerable 
time  and  with  animation,  you  should  try  to  remain  quiet 
for  a  while  in  order  to  recompose  yourself  gradually,  and 
to  allow  the  species  of  fever  which  has  excited  and  con- 
sumed you  to  subside.  The  head  particularly  needs  rest 
— for  nothing  is  so  fatiguing  to  it  as  extemporaneous 
speaking,  which  brings  into  play  all  the  faculties  of  the 
mind,  strains  them  to  the  uttermost,  and  thus  causes  a 
powerful  determination  of  blood  to  the  brain.  More- 
over, the  nervous  system,  which  is  ancillary  to  it,  is 
strongly  agitated — it  requires  tranquilizing — and  the 
whole  body,  violently  exerted  as  it  has  been  by  the  ora- 
torical delivery,  requires  refreshment  and  repose;  and 
these,  a  slight  doze,  if  it  is  possible  to  obtain  one  in  a  case 
of  the  sort,  will  afford  better  than  any  other  means. 

The  vocal  organs,  which  have  just  been  exercised  to  ex- 
cess, ought  to  be  kept  unemployed ;  and  therefore  great 

189 


190  THE  DISCOURSE  ENDED 

care  should  be  taken — if  indeed  the  inconvenience  can  be 
avoided — not  to  receive  visits  or  hold  conversations.  In 
the  fatigue  of  the  moment,  any  new  effort,  however  small, 
is  prejudicial,  and  takes  away  more  strength  than  the 
most  violent  exertions  at  another  time.  The  first  thing 
to  do  in  this  state  is  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  the 
danger  escaped,  and  for  the  help  received,  even  when 
you  fancy  that  you  have  not  achieved  the  success  which 
you  desire.  Public  speaking  is  so  hazardous  a  thing 
that  one  never  knows  what  will  be  the  issue  of  it,  and 
in  nothing  is  assistance  from  above  so  really  necessary. 

He  who  feels  the  importance  and  the  danger  of  speak- 
ing, who  has  any  notion  of  what  the  orator  ought  to  be, 
any  notion  of  all  that  he  needs  to  accomplish  his  task, 
the  obstacles  he  must  surmount,  the  difficulties  he  must 
overcome,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  how  slight  a  matter 
suffices  to  overthrow  or  paralyze  him — ^he  who  under- 
stands all  this  can  well  conceive  also  that  he  requires  to 
be  breathed  upon  from  on  high  in  order  to  receive  the 
inspiration,  the  light,  fire,  which  shall  make  his  discourse 
living  and  efficacious.  For  all  life  comes  from  Him  who 
is  life  itself,  life  infinite,  life  eternal,  inexhaustible,  and 
the  life  of  minds  more  still  than  of  bodies,  since  God  is 
spirit.  It  is  but  just,  therefore,  to  pay  Him  homage  for 
what  He  has  vouchsafed  to  give  us,  and  to  refer  to  Him 
at  the  earliest  moment  the  fruit  or  glory  of  what  we 
have  received.  This  is  the  more  fitting,  because  there  is 
nothing  more  intoxicating  than  the  successes  of  elo- 
quence ;  and  in  the  elation  which  its  power  gives,  owing 
to  a  consciousness  of  strength,  and  the  visible  influence 
which  one  is  exercising  over  one's  fellow-creatures,  one 
is  naturally  prone  to  exalt  oneself  in  one's  own  conceit, 
and  to  ascribe  to  oneself,  directly  or  indirectly,  wholly  or 
partially,  the  effect  produced     One  should  beware  of 


THE  DISCOURSE  ENDED  191 

these  temptations  of  pride,  these  illusions  of  vanity, 
which  are  invariably  fatal  to  true  talent. 

Within  that  measure,  it  is  allowable  to  rejoice  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  at  what  one  has  achieved  in  the  very  great 
relief  which  is  experienced  after  speaking.  I  know  noth- 
ing equal  to  this  sense  of  relief,  especially  when  one 
thinks  that  the  task  has  not  been  unworthily  performed 
— except  the  anguish  felt  before  beginning  a  speech. 
The  one  is  the  consequence  of  the  other ;  for  the  greatest 
joys  of  this  world  are  always  produced  by  the  cessation 
of  the  greatest  troubles. 

First,  there  is  a  sort  of  infantine  joy  at  being  de- 
livered from  a  difficult  task,  or  disencumbered  of  a  heavy 
burden.  Labor  weighs  hard  upon  all  the  children  of 
Adam,  even  on  those  who  the  most  feel  its  necessity,  and 
we  instinctively  shun  it  to  the  utmost.  Besides  which, 
rest  after  sharp  fatigue  is  delicious,  and  particularly 
after  the  labors  of  the  mind.  Socrates,  son  of  a  midwife, 
used  to  say  that  he  continued  the  occupation  of  his 
mother ;  but  it  was  in  the  mental  order,  by  means  of  his 
interrogatories  and  dialectics,  and  hence  the  eristic 
method.  One  may  say,  then,  with  the  wisest  of  the 
Greeks,  that  the  delivery  of  a  discourse  in  public  is  the 
production  of  an  intellectual  offspring;  and  very  fortu- 
nate it  is  when  that  offspring  is  not  dead  or  unlikely  to 
live.  To  conceive  an  idea,  to  organize  it  in  a  plain  vigo- 
rously meditated,  and  to  carry  this  mental  progeny  for 
more  or  less  time  in  the  understanding,  and  then  when 
matured  to  give  it  to  the  light  amidst  the  dangers  and 
the  throes  of  public  speaking,  this  is  an  exertion  which 
produces  immense  relief  and  a  very  great  satisfaction 
when  it  succeeds.  And  truly,  how  light  one  feels  after 
a  speech,  and  how  comfortable  the  relaxation  of  mind 
and  body  after  the  extreme  tension  which  has  wrung  all 


192  THE  DISCOURSE  ENDED 

the  springs  and  exhausted  all  the  exertions  of  one's  vital 
power!  None  can  know  it,  save  him.  who  has  expe- 
rienced it. 

After  this  comes  a  feeling  at  once  higher  and  deeper, 
that  of  duty  accomplished,  of  a  task  honorably  fulfilled, 
one  of  the  sweetest  joys  of  conscience.  Finally,  another 
feeling  raises  us  in  our  own  estimation  even  while  inspir- 
ing us  with  humility,  that  of  being  an  instrument  of 
truth  to  make  it  known  to  men  as  far  as  our  weakness 
allows,  and  of  having  given  testimony  to  it  at  the  cost 
of  some  sacrifices,  or  at  least  of  our  toil  and  sweat.  You 
are  never  more  closely  united  with  Truth  than  when  you 
are  announcing  it  with  conviction  and  devotedness. 
When  you  are  called  to  proclaim  it  solemnly,  it  reveals 
itself  or  makes  itself  felt  in  a  manner  quite  peculiar,  and, 
as  Bossuet  says,  with  sudden  illuminations.  He  who  in- 
structs others  in  hearty  and  living  language  derives  more 
profit  than  even  those  whom  he  teaches,  and  receives 
more  light  than  he  imparts.  This  is  why  teaching  is  the 
best  method  of  learning. 

From  these  mingled  sentiments  results  a  state  full  of 
sweetness,  especially  if  you  believe  that  you  have  suc- 
ceeded, and  in  general  your  own  feeling  does  not  deceive 
you  in  this  respect.  Still,  illusion  is  possible,  whether 
for  good  or  ill,  because  the  true  orator,  who  always  needs 
inspiration,  never  has  a  very  clear  consciousness  of  what 
he  has  done,  or  rather  of  what  has  been  done  by  him. 
God  alone,  who  inspires  him,  illumines  the  minds  of  the 
hearers  by  His  light,  and  changes  their  hearts  by  his 
grace.  Now  God  frequently  employs  the  weakest  instru- 
ments, apparently,  to  touch  the  soul,  as  He  has  renewed 
the  face  of  the  world  by  what,  in  the  eyes  of  human 
wisdom,  were  the  meanest  and  most  foolish  of  mankind. 

Thus,  a  discourse  with  which  a  speaker  is  dissatisfied, 


THE  DISCOURSE  ENDED  193 

because  it  has  fallen  short  of  his  ideal  and  of  his  plan, 
has  produced  a  profound  impression  and  has  subjugated 
every  listener;  whereas  another,  with  which  he  was  de- 
lighted and  which  he  thought  highly  effective,  has  pro- 
duced nothing  save  his  own  fruitless  exultation,  and  too 
often  an  augmentation  of  his  vain-glory.  Here,  as  in 
everything,  the  Almighty  is  absolute: — He  sports  with 
the  desires,  efforts,  and  opinions  of  men,  and  makes  them 
instrumental,  according  to  His  good  pleasure,  in  the 
manifestation  of  truth,  and  the  promotion  of  the  designs 
of  His  justice  or  His  mercy. 

Let  no  speaker,  then,  too  much  disquiet  himself  as  to 
the  effect  he  may  have  produced  and  the  results  of  his 
discourse;  let  him  leave  all  this  in  the  hands  of  God, 
whose  organ  he  is,  and  let  him  beseech  Him  to  make 
something  accrue  from  it  to  His  glory,  if  success  has  been 
achieved ;  or  if  he  has  had  the  misfortune  to  fail,  to  make 
good  out  of  this  evil  come,  as  it  belongs  to  the  Divine 
Power  to  do,  and  to  that  power  alone. 

Above  all,  let  him  not  canvass  this  person  and  that  in- 
quisitively concerning  what  their  feelings  were  in  hearing 
him,  and  their  opinion  of  his  discourse  and  his  manner. 
All  such  questions  seek  a  motive  for  self-love,  rather  than 
any  useful  hints;  they  are  an  indirect  way  of  going  in 
quest  of  praise  and  admiration,  and  may  be  carried  to  a 
very  abject  extent,  in  order  to  get  oneself  consideration, 
criticizing  one's  one  performance  merely  to  elicit  a  con- 
trary verdict — tricks  and  subterfuges  of  vanity,  which 
begs  its  bread  in  the  meanest  quarters,  and  which  in  its 
excessive  craving  for  flattery,  challenges  applause  and 
extorts  eulogy.  This  wretched  propensity  is  so  inborn  in 
human  nature,  since  original  sin,  that  frequently  the 
greatest  orators  are  not  proof  against  this  littleness, 
which  abuses  them  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  man.    Besides, 


194  THE  DISCOURSE  ENDED 

it  is  a  way  of  exposing  oneself  to  cruel  disappointments. 

At  length  when  the  speaker  is  sufficiently  rested,  and 
has  become  more  calm,  next  day,  for  instance,  let  him  re- 
view his  plan  while  his  recollections  are  still  new,  in 
order  to  correct  and  perfect  it  by  the  side  of  what  he  has 
actually  said,  either  rectifying  the  succession  of  the 
ideas,  if  necessary,  or  adding  those  which  have  occurred 
to  him  while  speaking.  It  will  be  so  much  gained  for 
some  future  speech  on  the  same  plan. 

If  the  discourse  has  been  really  successful,  and  he  feels 
inclined,  let  him  write  according  to  his  plan  as  he  has 
spoken,  and  thus  he  will  compose  a  finished,  after  having 
delivered  an  extemporaneous,  production.  Great  orators 
have  in  this  manner  written  several  of  their  orations  sub- 
sequently— Cicero,  Bossuet,  and  others.  In  this  case, 
the  surest  method  is  to  have  a  short-hand  writer  who 
shall  supply  you  with  the  whole  of  what  you  have  said, 
and  whose  reports  you  can  rewrite,  yet  so  rewrite  as  to 
preserve  whatever  vivid  or  striking  things  the  spoken 
words  possessed. 

This  is  a  labor  which  we  have  often  executed,  always 
with  advantage,  and  never  without  a  feeling  of  humility. 
For  unless  you  have  verified  it,  you  can  hardly  form  an 
idea  how  wretched  upon  paper  looks  the  most  easy,  the 
most  elegant  extemporaneous  address,  even  that  which 
produced  the  greatest  effect  at  the  moment  itself;  and 
how  very  much  it  admits  of  improvement  in  point  of 
style  and  readableness.  That  is  why  orators  of  mark, 
and  even  of  the  highest  order,  w^hose  quivering  and 
action-heated  eloquence  moves  and  overcomes  any  as- 
sembly, vanish,  as  it  were,  on  being  perused;  so  that 
on  seeing  the  reckoning  of  their  extemporaneous  ha- 
rangues, divested  of  the  accents  of  their  voice,  the  play 
of  their  physiognomy,  and  their  gestures,  you  ask  your- 


THE  DISCOURSE  ENDED  195 

self  with  amazement  how  such  a  discourse  could  have 
produced  an  effect  so  wondrous.  It  is  that  speaking  and 
writing  are  not  the  same  thing;  people  do  not  write  as 
they  speak,  and  frequently  he  who  speaks  the  best  knows 
nothing  about  writing,  just  as  the  ablest  writer  is  not 
always  capable  of  speaking. 

Our  modest  task  is  over;  for  we  had,  we  repeat,  no 
pretension  of  compassing  a  treatise  on  the  art  of  speak- 
ing; our  single  object  was  to  transfer  the  results  of  our 
experience  to  those  whose  calling  it  is  to  speak  in  public. 
These  very  simple  counsels,  we  hope,  may  prove  useful 
to  some,  either  by  sparing  them  trials  which  are  always 
painful,  even  when  they  are  productive  of  fruit,  or  by 
showing  them  a  more  easy  process  than  their  own,  or  a 
surer  way. 

However  this  may  be,  we  warn  them  at  parting  that 
those  alone  can  derive  any  benefit  from  our  remarks 
who  shall  have  received  from  nature  the  gift  of  eloquence, 
and  whom  God,  who  is  the  Word  by  preeminence,  shall 
assist  by  His  grace  in  the  management  of  this  formidable 
weapon,  this  two-edged  sword,  for  the  manifestation  of 
truth,  the  fulfillment  of  His  designs  among  men,  and 
the  renewal  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  LOGIC   OF   THE  ORATOR 

If  the  reader  fancy  that  we  are  about  to  assemble  before 
him  a  formidable  body  of  scholastic  rules,  and  to  enter 
the  labyrinth  of  the  Aristotelian  Logic,  we  beg  him  to 
dismiss  the  apprehension.  Our  purpose  is  far  simpler, 
and  is  limited  to  setting  forth  in  an  unpretending  way 
those  turns  and  connections  of  reasoning  which,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  the  public  speaker  is  called 
upon  to  employ.  Something  of  this  detailed  and  ex- 
emplified character  seems  requisite  to  the  American 
student,  as  an  append  to  the  suggestive  and  eloquent 
work  of  Monsieur  Bautain.  We  shall  be  strictly  prac- 
tical in  both  plan  and  execution,  and  when  we  adopt 
authorities  the  reader  may  rely  upon  it  that  good  ones 
are  followed,  whether  cited  or  not,  in  their  own  lan- 
guage. 

"We  confine  ourselves  to  Logic  so  far  as  it  concerns 
the  orator,  and  we  go  no  step  further.  The  examples 
chosen  shall  be  from  spoken,  argumentative  productions, 
and  the  nomenclature  that  which  has  the  sanction  of  past 
and  present  use.  All  beyond  this  lies  outside  of  our 
plan.  Yet  so  connected  are  all  cognate  subjects  of 
thought  and  investigation  that  a  familiarity  with  the 
principles  of  reasoning  as  here  stated  and  applied,  will 
not  fail  to  introduce  the  reader,  if  the  study  be  new  or 
obscure  to  him,  to  the  science  at  large.    With  this  ad- 

196 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  197 

vantage,  that  the  direct  and  positive  examples  he  will 
meet  with,  taken  from  actual  occasions  and  relating  to 
immediate  interests,  will  have  infused  a  vitality  which  is 
not  found  in  the  Tree  of  Porphyry,  and  which  is  want- 
ing to  the  mere  verbalities  of  scholasticism.  Nothing  of 
the  kind  here  attempted  has  yet  fallen  in  our  way,  and 
believing  that  a  desideratum  exists  which  ought  to  be 
supplied,  we  now  proceed  in  the  attempt  to  supply  it. 

The  object  of  all  public  speaking,  where  logic  pre- 
vails, is  to  carry  some  point  or  other:  to  establish  some 
proposition,  either  opposed,  or  not.  All  evidence — ^and 
consequently  all  proof — is  built  upon  the  idea  of  a  con- 
nection between  that  which  is  asserted  and  that  which 
ought  to  be  conceded;  to  wit,  the  point  to  be  carried. 
What  this  connection  is,  and  whether  it  exists  or  not,  is 
a  question  of  special  knowledge — therefore  *'get  knowl- 
edge." The  orator's  logic  does  iiot  furnish  that;  it  does 
show  him  how  to  use  it  to  advantage. 

The  Enthymeme  is  the  orator's  form  of  argument. 
It  is  an  elliptical  statement  of  his  reasoning.  One  of 
his  propositions  is  held  back  in  his  mind — such  is  the 
literal  meaning  of  the  term — ^the  other  two,  only,  are  ex- 
pressed. For  such  is  the  mysterious  process  (to  employ 
one  of  Monsieur  Bautain's  similitudes),  of  mental  gen- 
eration— there  must  be  three  terms,  three  propositions, 
three  thoughts  in  the  act  of  reason.  The  first  two  by 
their  union  engender  the  third. 

Take  an  example:  The  philosopher  might  discourse 
thus  formally, 

1.  We  ought  to  love  what  renders  us  more  perfect. 

2.  Now  literature  renders  us  more  perfect. 

3.  Therefore  we  ought  to  love  literature. 

Deny  the  first  proposition,  and  the  argument  fails,  its 
major  premiss  is  gone.     Deny  the  second,  it  again  fails : 


198  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

its  minor  premiss  has  disappeared.  But  grant  both,  and 
the  third,  the  conclusion,  stands  firm. 

This  slow  mode  of  statement  suits  not,  however,  the 
fervid  movement  of  the  orator.  He  exclaims,  **Who  is 
it  that  loves  not  letters?  They  enrich  the  understand- 
ing, and  refine  the  manners;  they  polish  and  adorn  hu- 
manity. Self-love  and  good  sense  themselves  endear 
them  to  us,  and  engage  us  in  their  cultivation."  Zeno 
said  that  the  philosophic  argument  is  like  the  human 
hand  closed,  the  oratorical  like  the  same  hand  unfolded. 

When  argumentation  is  linked  in  a  chain,  it  is  called  a 
Sorites.  Public  discourse,  from  time  to  time,  makes  use 
of  it.  A  playful  example  is  seen  when  the  Thracians  let 
loose  a  fox  on  a  frozen  river  to  try  the  ice.  Renard  put 
his  ear  down,  and  seemed  to  say,  ''Whatever  makes  a 
noise  moves ;  what  moves  is  not  frozen  hard ;  that  which 
is  not  hard  is  liquid;  liquid  will  bend  under  weight; 
therefore,  if  I  perceive,  close  to  my  ear,  the  sound  of 
water,  it  is  not  frozen,  and  the  ice  is  too  weak  to  bear 
me."  The  Thracians  saw  Renard  stop,  then  retreat 
when  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  water. 

The  Epichirema  is  but  an  involved  syllogism,  or  regu- 
lar argument.     Example: 

1.  Whatever  destroys  trade  is  ruinous  to  Great  Britain 

(because  it  deprives  the  laborer  of  his  ordinary 
means  of  support,  and  reduces  the  source  of  the 
revenue). 

2.  War  destroys  trade  (for  it  interrupts  the  exporta- 

tion of  manufactured  articles). 

3.  Therefore,  war  is  ruinous  to  Great  Britain. 
Cicero  calls  the  Epichirema  ratiocination.    You  see 

that  it  supports  the  chain  of  argument  by  subordinate 
proofs.  It  is  reducible  to  the  orator's  purpose,  as  fol- 
lows: 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  199 

*'War  is  ruinous  to  Great  Britain  because  it  deprives 
the  laborer,"  etc.,  adding  all  that  above  which  is  in- 
cluded in  the  two  parentheses.  This  gives  us,  at  once, 
the  form  of  the  Enthymeme. 

The  Dilemma,  divides  the  adversary's  argument  into 
two  or  more  parts,  and  then  opposes  to  each  of  them  an 
unanswerable  reply.  It  is  no  more  than  several  En- 
thymemes,  joined  together. 

For  instance  (regularly  in  form) : 

1.  He  who  writes  on  general  topics  must  either  sup- 

port popular  prejudices,  or  oppose  them. 

2.  If  he  supports  them,  he  will  be  condemned  by  the 

intelligent. 

3.  If  he  opposes  them,  he  will  be  condemned  by  the 

ignorant. 

4.  Therefore  he  who  writes  on  general  topics,  wiU  be 

condemned. 

The  orator  turns  the  argument  into  an  Enthymeme 
somewhat  in  this  way: 

He  who  writes  on  general  topics  will  be  condemned, 
because  he  must  either  support  popular  prejudices,  or 
oppose  them.  If  he  oppose  them,  he  will  be  condemned 
by  the  ignorant,  if  he  support  them,  by  the  intelli- 
gent. 

Patrick  Henry's  famous  oration  for  the  war  runs  into 
the  form  of  a  dilemma.  He  argues,  *'We  must  resort 
either  to  submission  or  to  arms.  Therefore  there  is  no 
need  of  longer  debate.  We  have  tried  submission  in  vain 
— and  the  war  is  already  begun.     There  is  no  peace." 

The  dilemma  is  most  frequently  employed  for  retort. 
The  best  way  of  replying  to  it  is  to  show  that  the  adver- 
sary has  not  fully,  or  fairly,  subdivided  his  subject. 
The  weU  known  dispute  of  the  travelers,  concerning 
the  chameleon's  color,  is  an  example.    The  creature  when 


200  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

*' produced/'  was  of  no  one  of  the  colors  named  hy  the 
three  disputants, 

A  dilemma  and  its  retort  are  seen  in  the  often-quoted 
case  of  Protagoras  and  Eualthus.  Protagoras  had  taught 
Eualthus  the  art  of  pleading  under  the  stipulation  that 
one-half  of  the  reward  should  be  paid  in  advance,  and 
the  other  half  upon  Eualthus'  winning  his  first  cause. 
Protagoras  soon  sued  Eualthus  for  the  rest  of  his  debt, 
and  said  to  him :  //  /  gain  the  cause,  you  must  pay  me 
hy  the  Courtis  decree:  if  I  lose  the  cause,  you  must  pay 
me  hy  the  terms  of  our  agreement.  Therefore,  whether 
I  gain  or  lose  the  cause,  you  must  pay  me  the  money. 
To  which  dilemma  the  pupil  opposed  another :  If  I  gain 
the  cause,  I  shall  not  pay  you  by  the  decree  of  the  Court. 
If  I  lose  it,  I  shall  not  pay  you  by  the  terms  of  our  agree- 
ment. Therefore,  in  either  case  shall  I  pay  you  the 
money.  Eualthus  was  right.  No  cause  of  action  had 
yet  arisen.  The  old  pleader's  object  was,  no  doubt,  to 
furnish  his  young  friend  a  won  case,  and  so  receive  his 
money. 

The  argument  d  priori  is,  when  we  appeal  to  a  reason- 
able, natural  expectancy.  The  magnificent  oration  of 
Paul  before  Agrippa  proceeds  in  the  d  priori  form.  He 
describes  his  ' '  manner  of  life  from  his  youth, ' '  his  train- 
ing after  the  straitest  sect  of  his  religion,  a  Pharisee. 
The  inference  d  priori  must  be  that  such  a  one  knew  well 
the  prophecies  of  the  Jews,  and  could  wisely  judge  of 
their  fulfillment  in  the  Messiah.  Next  he  recites  his  bit- 
ter prejudices  and  persecutions  of  the  believers.  The  in- 
ference d  priori  must  be  that  such  a  man  would  join  him- 
self to  them  only  from  overwhelming  reasons  of  convic- 
tion. 

The  argument  d  posteriori  is  the  direct  opposite  of 
the  former:  it  looks  back,  and  from  effects  and  conse- 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  201 

quences  infers  causes.  '*If  such  and  such  be  the  effects 
of  this  law — the  inevitable  and  undeniable  effects — can 
the  law  itself  be  good? — a  good  tree  is  known  by  its 
fruits,  etc. ' '  Webster 's  fervid  burst  of  declamation  over 
the  vision  of  a  broken  union — ''States  dissevered,  dis- 
cordant, belligerent,  a  land  rent  with  civil  feuds,  or 
drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fraternal  blood'' — is  an  a  pos- 
teriori argument  for  a  union  "now  and  forever  one  and 
inseparable."  Curran's  awful  denunciation  of  an  In- 
former, "A  wretch  that  is  buried  a  man  till  his  heart  has 
time  to  fester  and  dissolve,  and  is  then  dug  up  a  witness, ' ' 
*'how  the  stormy  wave  of  the  multitude  retired  at  his 
approach,"  etc.,  argues  from  these  hideous  effects  that 
the  prosecution  of  the  government  against  Finnerty, 
needing  and  producing  such  instruments  is  unrighteous, 
and  that  the  jury  cannot,  in  conscience,  sustain  it. 

The  last  two  arguments — the  a  priori  and  the  a  pos- 
teriori— relate  to  time,  to  the  future  and  the  past.  The 
argument  a  fortiori  refers  to  force  and  its  degrees.  It 
very  often  takes  the  form  of  interrogation — as  indeed 
forcible  argumentation  in  general  inclines  to  do.  The 
ideas  of  less  and  greater,  then,  lie  under  the  a  fortiori 
turn  of  argument.  Says  Jefferson,  "Sometimes  it  is 
said  that  man  cannot  be  trusted  with  the  government 
of  himself.  Can  he,  then,  be  trusted  with  the  govern- 
ment of  others?  Or  have  we  found  angels,  in  the  form 
of  kings,  to  govern  him?  Let  history  answer  this  ques- 
tion." 

Burke,  in  defending  before  the  Bristol  electors  his 
course  on  Catholic  emancipation,  employs  a  powerful, 
implied,  a  fortiori  argument  to  support  the  justice  of 
the  emancipation.  The  English  Catholics  were  most 
loyal  when  most  tempted  not  to  be  so.  "A  great  terror 
fell  upon  this  kingdom.     On  a  sudden  we  saw  ourselves 


202  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

threatened  with  an  immediate  invasion,  which  we  were 
at  that  time  very  ill  prepared  to  resist.  You  remember 
the  cloud  which  gloomed  over  us  all.  In  that  hour  of 
our  dismay,  from  the  bottom  of  the  hiding-places  into 
which  the  indiscriminate  rigor  of  our  statutes  had  driven 
them,  came  out  the  Roman  Catholics.  They  appeared 
before  the  steps  of  a  tottering  throne  with  one  of  the 
most  sober,  measured,  steady,  and  dutiful  addresses  that 
was  ever  presented  to  the  crown.  At  such  a  crisis,  noth- 
ing but  a  decided  resolution  to  stand  or  fall  with  their 
country  could  have  dictated  such  an  address,  the  direct 
tendency  of  which  was  to  cut  off  all  retreat,  and  to 
render  them  peculiarly  obnoxious  to  an  invader  of  their 
own  communion '^  (France).  The  conclusion  is  obvious 
— a  fortiori  such  subjects  would  be  loyal  in  less  extraor- 
dinary times  and  emergencies,  and  their  odious  disabili- 
ties should  have  been  removed. 

The  speech  of  Anthony,  as  written  by  Shakespeare,  in 
the  third  act  of  Julius  Caesar,  is,  for  its  length,  un- 
equaled,  simply  as  an  oratorical  production,  by  any  un- 
inspired creation  of  ancient  or  modem  times.  That 
some  speech  then  and  there  was  delivered,  and  a  power 
sufficient  to  transform  the  face  of  the  Roman  world,  his- 
tory attests ;  that  the  actual  effort  equaled  Shakespeare 's 
matchless  imagery,  is,  at  least,  doubtful.  The  art  of  the 
orator  plays  throughout  with  a  boundless  fertility  of  re- 
sources. Argumentation  is  blended  with  rhetoric,  and 
the  impression  is  a  diamond-like  unity  which  is  inimit- 
able. The  summit  of  the  eff'ect  shoots  up  in  the  a  fortiori 
form  of  argument.  Anthony  has  shown  the  crowd 
Caesar's  mantle — his  familiar  robe.  *'You  all  do  know 
this  mantle."  He  associates  it  with  an  occasion  of  na- 
tional pride: 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  203 

'1  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on: 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii." 

The  rents  of  daggers  in  the  robe  are  shown — ^the  in- 
gratitude of  Brutus — the  broken  heart  of  Caesar — the 
fatal  fall — are  pictured,  and  the  subdued  and  weeping 
multitude  are  infuriated  by  this  startling  transition,  d 
fortiori — 

"What,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded?     Lo! 
Here  is  himself — marred,  as  you  see,  by  tbaitoes." 

The  argument,  from  example,  is  based  upon  resem- 
blance, and  takes  a  variety  of  modes — such  as  instances, 
anecdotes,  fables,  comparisons.  An  apt  citation  by 
Menenius  of  the  fable  of  the  belly  and  the  members  is 
said  to  have  saved  Rome  from  anarchy,  and  reunited  the 
army  and  people  with  the  patricians. 

The  argument  from  example,  when  its  cases  are  multi- 
plied, becomes  an  inductive  argument.  The  orator's 
proposition  is  that  wicked  men  must  be  unhappy.  He 
cites  Herod,  the  slayer  of  John  the  Baptist,  and  shows 
him  devoured  before  his  death  by  worms:  Tiberius  yell- 
ing with  remorse  in  the  caverns  of  Capreus;  Nero  sink- 
ing into  the  horrors  of  mental  alienation  from  the  visions 
of  vengeance  which  haunted  him.  From  history  he  as- 
sembles a  multitude  of  fearful  examples  in  support  of 
his  proposition,  and  draws  his  conclusion,  from  the  in- 
duction, that  happiness  is  not  for  the  wicked. 

The  inductive  argument  is  sometimes  made  to  produce 
a  reductio  ad  ahsurdum,  or  ad  impossihUe,  i.  e.,  it  proves 
that  the  conclusion  attempted  cannot  be  that  it  is  ab- 
surd, impossible.     Erskine,  defending  the  Dean  of  St. 


204  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

Asaph  for  libel  against  the  government,  thus  employs 
it. 

*^  Every  sentence  contained  in  this  little  book,  if  the 
interpretation  of  the  words  is  to  be  settled  not  accord- 
ing to  fancy,  but  by  the  common  rules  of  language,  is  to 
be  found  in  the  brightest  pages  of  English  literature,  and 
in  the  most  sacred  volumes  of  English  law;  if  any  one 
sentiment  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  it  be  seditious 
or  libelous,  the  Bill  of  Rights  was  a  seditious  libel;  the 
Revolution  was  a  wicked  rebellion;  the  existing  govern- 
ment is  a  traitorous  conspiracy  against  the  hereditary 
monarchy  of  England;  and  our  gracious  sovereign  is  a 
usurper  of  the  crown  of  these  kingdoms. '* 

The  argumentum  ad  hominem,  is  an  enthymeme 
which  overturns  the  adversary's  arguments  by  his  own 
facts  and  words.  Tuberus  brought  an  accusation  against 
Ligarius  that  he  had  fought  against  Caesar,  in  Africa. 
Cicero  defended  Ligarius,  and  turned  the  charge 
against  his  accuser.  ''But,  I  ask,  who  says  that 
it  was  a  crime  in  Ligarius  that  he  was  in  Africa? 
It  is  a  man  who  himself  wished  to  be  there ;  a  man  who 
complains  that  Ligarius  prevented  him  from  going,  and 
one  who  has  assuredly  borne  arms  against  Caesar.  For, 
Tuberus,  wherefore  that  naked  sword  of  yours  in  the 
lines  of  Pharsalia?  Whose  breast  was  its  point  seek- 
ing? What  was  the  meaning  of  those  arms  of  yours? 
Whither  looked  your  purpose?  your  eyes?  your  hand? 
your  fiery  courage  ?  What  were  you  craving,  what  wish- 
ing?" 

This  was  the  passage  which  so  moved  Caesar  that  the 
act  of  condemnation  of  Ligarius  dropped  from  his  shak- 
ing hand,  and  he  pardoned  him. 

Having  thus  exhibited  the  molds  in  which  the  chief 
arguments  of  the  orator  are  cast,  we  next  take  up  the 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  205 

subject  of  refutation.  Without  logic,  rhetoric  is  a 
frivolous  art,  and  from  the  science  of  reasoning  it  derives 
its  strength,  and  gains  admittance  into  the  understand- 
ing. Refutation  demands  the  greatest  address  of  reason- 
ing, since  it  requires  more  skill  to  heal  a  wound  than  to 
cause  it. 

In  refuting  your  adversary's  arguments  you  establish 
your  own,  but  sometimes  it  is  needful  to  hegi7i  by  dis- 
posing of  his,  when,  for  instance,  you  perceive  from  the 
impression  they  have  produced,  that  your  own  proofs 
may  be  badly  received.  In  doing  this  you  must  exhibit 
the  defects  of  his  reasoning,  which  may  be  several,  as 

Ignorance  of  the  subject. — Here  you  correct  and 
rectify  his  statements  of  facts.  You  may  show  that  if 
the  facts  were  as  he  supposes  them  to  be,  his  conclusion 
would  be  just,  and  acceptable.  It  is  a  very  forcible  way 
of  refuting  (and  often  unfairly  employed)  to  seize  some 
one  capital  assertion  of  the  opponent  and  destroy  it  com- 
pletely by  an  unanswerable  citation.  The  effect  is  to 
throw  an  air  of  distrust  over  all  the  rest.  If  this  con- 
spicuous assertion  had  been  dwelt  upon,  and  joined  with 
some  striking  rhetorical  figure  or  illustration,  a  certain 
ridicule  accompanies  its  prostration,  which  is  then  com- 
plete.   Examples  of  this  are  numerous. 

In  his  Oration  for  the  Crown,  Demosthenes,  flinging 
back  the  argument  of  :^schines,  quotes  his  exclamations, 
*'0  Earth!  0  Sun!  O  Virtue!"  etc.,  in  a  way  that 
shows  he  must  have  mimicked  him  with  a  sneering  em- 
phasis. The  following  from  Junius  (the  style  of  whose 
letters  is  admitted  to  be  entirely  oratorical)  will  briefly 
exemplify  the  point  we  are  now  presenting.  To  Sir  W. 
Draper:  *'I  could  wish  that  you  would  pay  a  greater 
attention  to  the  truth  of  your  premises  before  you  suf- 
fer your  genius  to  hurry  you  to  a  conclusion.    Lord 


206  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

Ligonier  did  not  deliver  the  army  (which  you,  in  your 
classical  language,  are  pleased  to  call  a  palladium)  into 
Lord  Granby's  hands.  It  was  taken  from  him  much 
against  his  inclination,  some  two  or  three  years  before 
Lord  Granby  was  commander-in-chief.''  A  principal 
fact  is  flatly  upset,  and  the  unlucky  expression  seen  in 
the  parenthesis  heightens  the  effect  of  the  retort  by  the 
ridicule  which  thus  attaches  to  it.  From  the  same  nerv- 
ous writer,  the  following  extract  presents  an  inductive 
argument  along  with  the  citation  of  capital  facts,  the 
quotation  of  the  adversary's  expression,  and  his  convic- 
tion of  ignorance  of  the  subject.  **You  say,  he  (Lord 
Granby)  has  acquired  nothing  but  honor  in  the  field. 
Is  the  Ordnance  nothing?  Are  the  Blues  nothing?  Is 
the  command  of  the  army  with  all  the  patronage  annexed 
to  it,  nothing?  Where  he  got  these  nothings  I  know 
not;  but  you,  at  least,  ought  to  have  told  us  when  he 
deserved  them." 

Fetitio  principii — or  begging  the  question. — This  is, 
probably,  the  commonest  of  the  fallacies  of  reasoning. 
It  consists  in  giving,  as  proof  of  itself,  the  very  thing  to 
be  proved.  One  of  Moliere's  comedies  has  a  playful  ex- 
ample. *'Why  does  opium  produce  sleep?  Because  it 
possesses  a  soporific  quality."  The  power  to  induce 
sleep,  and  the  possession  of  a  soporific  (or  sleep  produc- 
ing) quality  are  one  and  the  same  thing.  Whatever  is 
provable  must  be  distinct  from  that  which  proves  it — 
the  evidence  from  the  thing  evidenced.  Where  these 
two  separate  things  are  confounded,  the  petitio  occurs, 
and  the  question  is  not  proved  but  *' begged."  Any 
statement  which,  instead  of  supporting  the  question, 
merely  varies  its  expression,  or  assigns  its  incidents 
granting  it  to  be  true,  is  no  more  than  a  repetition  of  the 
assertion,  and  is  no  evidence  nor  proof.     Such  is  the 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  207 

petitio  principii,  the  phases  of  which  are  many,  and  the 
answer  is  to  distinguish  the  new  statement  from  proof, 
and  identify  it  with  the  original  proposition — the  conse- 
quence then  drawn  is  that,  whether  the  proposition  be, 
or  be  not  true,  this  does  not  establish  it — as  seen  above 
in  the  sportive  instance  from  jMoliere. 

The  Vicious  Circle  is  one  or  more  steps  further  of  the 
question  begged.  You  support  A  by  B,  B  by  C,  and 
then  C  by  A.  A  is  the  base  after  all.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, two  propositions  may  reciprocally  support  each 
other,  without  any  detriment  to  right  reason.  In  the 
case,  say,  of  one  of  them  being  known,  or  admitted,  by 
the  opposite  party,  of  course  you  may  make  it  the  ground 
of  the  other.  But  to  prove  anything  unknown  by  some- 
thing as  little  or  less  known,  or  something  uncertain  by 
another  thing  of  equal  uncertainty,  is  to  fall  within  the 
compass  of  the  Vicious  Circle.  Mr.  Fox,  on  Parliamen- 
tary Reform,  thus  exposes  the  fallacy;  ** Gentlemen  are 
fond  of  arguing  in  this  vicious  circle.  When  we  con- 
tend that  ministers  have  not  the  confidence  of  the  peo- 
ple, they  tell  us  that  the  House  of  Commons  is  the  faith- 
ful representative  of  the  sense  of  the  country.  When 
we  assert  that  the  representation  is  defective,  and  show 
that  the  House  does  not  speak  the  voice  of  the  people, 
they  turn  to  the  general  election,  and  say,  that  at  this 
period  the  people  had  an  opportunity  of  choosing  faith- 
ful organs  of  their  opinion ;  and  because  very  little  or  no 
change  has  taken  place  in  the  representation,  the  sense 
of  the  people  must  be  the  same.  Sir,  it  is  vain  for  gentle- 
men to  shelter  themselves  under  this  mode  of  reason- 
ing." 

Imperfect  Enumeration. — This  is  the  error  of  de- 
fective Induction.  A  generalized  conclusion  is  drawn 
from  a  given  number  of  examples,  but  other  examples 


208  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

which  conflict  with  the  conclusion  are  overlooked,  or 
left  out;  as  if  many  lakes  of  fresh  water  were  named 
and  the  conclusion  drawn  that  all  such  isolated  bodies  of 
water  are  fresh — omitting  the  fact  of  the  Caspians.  Or 
this,  *'The  French  are  white,  the  English  are  white,  the 
Italians,  Germans,  Russians  and  Americans  are  white; 
therefore  all  men  are  white."  The  conclusion  is 
erroneous  because  the  enumeration  is  imperfect.  There 
are  hlack  men  in  Guinea. 

Proving  too  much, — The  logicians  say  that  that  which 
proves  too  much,  proves  nothing.  The  common  way  of 
shaping  this  argument  is  to  cite  an  example  (if  you  cite 
several,  the  argument  becomes  inductive)  equally  in 
point  as  the  one  maintained,  and  yet  evidently  unten- 
able, or  absurd  or  impossible.  Thus  we  may  have  here 
the  arguments  from  exam/pie,  hy  induction,  ad  hominem, 
and  reductio  ad  ahsurdum  and  ad  impossihile.  In  a 
speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives  on  a  Uniform  sys- 
tem of  Bankruptcy,  John  Sargent  reasoned  thus:  ^*I 
fully  agree  that  the  principles  of  sound  legislation  are 
opposed  to  retrospective  laws.  But  what  are  retrospec- 
tive laws  ?  A  retrospective  law  is  a  law  that  impairs  or 
affects  the  vested  rights  of  individuals.  Every  man  has 
a  vested  right  in  his  property.  But  has  a  citizen  of  this 
or  any  other  country  a  vested  right  in  any  particular 
remedy,  so  that  it  can  never,  as  to  him,  be  either  taken 
away  or  altered?  If  the  creditor  has  his  right,  so  has 
the  debtor;  and  then  the  absurd  consequence  would 
follow,  that  if  any  part  of  the  property  of  the  debtor 
was,  by  law,  exempted  from  liability,  as,  for  instance, 
his  land,  it  could  never  be  subjected  to  execution.  If 
his  person  was  not  by  law  subject  to  imprisonment,  it 
could  not  be  made  so.  The  remedy  is  no  part  of  the  con- 
tract,^*   Another  example   of  Inductive   reasoning  re- 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  209 

futing  an  argument  which  proves  too  much,  from  the 
same  eminent  statesman's  speech  on  the  Missouri  ques- 
tion: ^'But  is  it  essential  to  the  character  of  a  member 
of  this  Union  that  it  should  possess  all  the  powers,  or 
even  all  the  rights,  that  belonged  to  the  original  States? 
It  must  then  be  the  sovereign  of  all  the  territory  within 
its  limits.  But  the  unappropriated  lands  belong  to  the 
United  States.  It  must,  too,  have  an  unlimited  right  of 
taxation — and  it  must  have  an  independent  and  absolute 
power,  extending  to  everything  within  its  limits — for  all 
these  powers  belonged  to  the  original  States.  Then,  sir, 
not  a  single  new  State  (excepting  Vermont)  has  been 
properly  admitted  into  the  Union,  and  the  practice  of 
the  government,  from  its  foundation,  has  been  one  tissue 
of  error  and  usurpation. ' ' 

Logicians  call  a  mistaking  of  the  question  Ignoratio 
Elenchi,  it  misses  the  clinch  or  rivet  of  the  discussion. 
The  remedy,  and  reply,  is  to  re-state  the  issue.  Thus 
Webster  in  his  rejoinder  to  Hayne — Foote's  resolution 
being  before  the  Senate — begins  by  calling  for  the  read- 
ing of  the  resolution.  A  clear  way  of  stating  the  ques- 
tion is  to  put  it  both  affirmatively  and  negatively — lay- 
ing down  what  it  is,  and  distinguishing  it  from  that 
which  has  been,  or  may  be,  mistaken  for  it.  Mr. 
Prentiss,  in  his  great  argument  before  the  House  of 
Representatives,  on  the  Mississippi  contested  election,  a 
speech  which  continued  for  three  days,  and  won  the  en- 
thusiastic applause  of  the  first  men  of  the  country,  makes 
his  exordium  by  guarding  against  an  ignoratio  elenchi: 

* '  Tlie  first  use  I  shall  make  of  the  privilege  accorded  to 
me  will  be  to  set  the  House  right  as  to  the  attitude  of 
the  question,  for  I  perceive  that  many  members  labor 
under  a  misapprehension  on  this  point,  and  I  am  anxious 
that  the  position  I  occupy  in  the  matter  should  be  dis- 


210  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

tinctly  understood.  I  have  petitioned  this  House  for 
nothing;  neither  have  I  memorialized  it.  I  have  pre- 
sented myself  here  as  a  Representative  from  the 
sovereign  State  of  Mississippi,  to  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States,  and  claim  a  seat  on  this  floor,  not  as  a 
matter  of  favor ,  but  as  a  matter  of  right.' ^ 

Analogy. — This  argument  is  never  demonstrative.  It 
is  based,  not  upon  a  direct  resemblance,  but  upon  a  re- 
semblance of  ratios.  It  is  in  form  like  a  compound  pro- 
portion ;  as  a  is  to  B,  so  is  c  to  D.  As  a  son  is  to  a  par- 
ent, so  is  a  citizen  to  his  country.  To  upset  the  fallacious 
use  of  the  argument  we  must  show  that  the  resemblance 
does  not  hold  good,  or  that  it  is  assumed,  or  imag- 
inary. A  special  weakness  of  this  form  of  argu- 
ment (even  where  the  analogy  is  not  false,  but  real)  is 
that  it  is  at  best  only  prohahle,  and  the  employment  of 
it  by  itself  is  a  tacit  admission  of  the  want  or  absence  of 
true  demonstrative  argument.  It  is  a  trite  but  impor- 
tant remark  that  ''analogy  does  not  necessarily  lead  to 
truth." 

The  fallacy  of  false  analogy — derived  from  the  argu- 
ment found  in  a  true  analogy — is  called  non  tali  pro  tali 
— that  is,  no  likeness  put  for  a  likeness.  We  will  draw 
an  example  both  of  the  argument,  and  of  the  refutation 
of  the  fallacy,  from  Alexander  Hamilton's  speech  in  the 
Debates  on  the  Constitution. 

*'In  my  reasonings  on  the  subject  of  government,  I 
rely  more  on  the  interests  and  opinions  of  men  than  on 
any  speculative  parchment  provisions  whatever.  I  have 
found  that  constitutions  are  more  or  less  excellent,  as 
they  are  more  or  less  agreeable  to  the  natural  operation 
of  things.  But  say,  gentlemen,  the  members  of  Congress 
will  be  interested  not  to  increase  the  number  [of 
Representatives] ,  as  it  will  diminish  their  relative  influ- 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  211 

ence.  In  all  their  reasoning  upon  the  subject,  there 
seems  to  be  this  fallacy.  They  suppose  that  the  Repre- 
sentative will  have  no  motive  of  action,  on  the  one  side, 
but  a  sense  of  duty;  or  on  the  other,  but  corruption. 
They  do  not  reflect  that  he  is  to  return  to  the  com- 
munity," etc.,  etc.  The  last  part  is  the  refutation  of  an 
incomplete  induction.  In  the  following  paragraph, 
Hamilton  replies  to  the  argument  of  a  false  analogy, 
*  *  It  is  a  harsh  doctrine,  that  men  grow  wicked  in  propor- 
tion as  they  improve  and  enlighten  their  minds.  Expe- 
rience has  by  no  means  justified  us  in  the  supposition 
that  there  is  more  virtue  in  one  class  of  men  than  in  an- 
other. Look  through  the  rich  and  the  poor  of  the  com- 
munity, the  learned  and  the  ignorant.  Where  does  vir- 
tue predominate?  The  difference  indeed  consists,  not 
in  the  quality,  but  kind  of  vices  which  are  incident  to 
various  classes,''  etc.,  etc.  He  denies  that  the  asserted 
ratio  is  found  to  exist,  and  appeals  to  example,  which  de- 
veloped would  be  an  induction  of  the  facts,  for  proof  of 
his  denial. 

Fallacy  of  Interrogation. — We  have  already  remarked 
how  conspicuous  interrogations  frequently  become,  in 
rapid  and  imperative  oratorical  reasoning;  the  reader 
has  also  seen  an  example  in  the  extract  from  an  oration 
of  Cicero's.  The  fallacy  in  the  employment  of  this  in- 
strument consists  in  varj^ing  the  queries  in  such  a  way  as 
to  institute  really  another  inquiry  while  appearing  to 
adhere  to  the  question  at  issue.  This  fallacy  is  plainly 
referable  to  that  of  irrelevant  conclusions.  The  remedy 
is  to  re-affirm,  and  return  to  the  question.  It  may  like- 
wise be  sometimes  overthrown  by  means  of  a  parallel 
series  of  counter-questions.  All  depends  upon  a  clear 
comprehension  of  the  subject-matter,  and  a  distinct  state- 
ment of  the  issue. 


212  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

To  the  same  head  may  be  referred  the  ambiguity  of 
terms,  where  a  term  is  employed  in  different  senses. 
Knowledge  of  the  language  and  of  the  special  termi- 
nology is  the  resource  against  the  fallacy — which  is 
a  fruitful  cause  not  only  of  self-deception,  but  of 
sophistical  argumentation.  As  Aristotle  remarks,  all 
the  fallacies  may  be  referred  to  ignoratio  elenchi,  to  mis- 
take of  the  proposition,  or  misapprehension,  or  ignorance 
of  it.  Hence  the  capital  importance  of  a  clear  statement 
of  the  proposition.  As  Lord  Coke  says  with  respect  to  a 
legal  issue  in  pleading — it  should  be  single,  certain,  ma- 
terial, and  triable. 

Quitting  now  the  second  branch  of  oratorical  logic, 
that  is,  refutation,  we  shall  endeavor  to  elucidate  a  very 
valuable  device  of  argumentative  reasoning  which  seems 
to  have  been  too  much  overlooked  by  writers  on  the 
science.  We  shall  call  it  reasoning  by  tests.  It  is  a  sort 
of  short-hand  process  of  investigating,  illustrating  and 
proving,  and  is  allied  to  the  citation  of  a  leading  fact, 
or  facts,  heretofore  mentioned.  The  orator  seizes  certain 
determinating  principles,  certain  limiting  conditions,  or 
depicts  some  prominent  features  of  the  case  in  point,  and 
makes  these  representative,  or  determinative  of  the  whole 
business.  A  similar  expedient  is  found  in  the  concise 
language  of  the  mathematics,  where  the  power  of  a 
quantity,  its  root,  etc.,  are  signified  by  indices.  It  not 
only  renders  the  process  of  exposition  simple  and  more 
apprehensible,  but  the  grasp  of  the  reasoning  faculties 
upon  the  subject  thereby  becomes,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  more  comprehensive  and  more  firm.  Into  narrative 
it  infuses  life  by  the  rejection  of  useless  details,  into 
the  statement  of  the  subject  it  distributes  light  and  clear- 
ness, and  pours  energy  into  the  argumentation  by  the 
concentration  which  attends  it.    The  extreme  opposite 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  213 

style,  of  an  exhaustive  detail  of  undiscriminated 
minutiae,  has  every  fault  of  the  contrary  kind.  It  was 
such  an  exhibition  that  once  caused  Chief  Justice  Mar- 
shall at  len^h  to  inform  an  unwearied  pleader  that  he 
might  '^ornit  some  of  his  points  and  safely  assume  that 
the  supreme  court  of  the  United  States  did  know  some- 
thing /^ 

If  we  were  regularly  treating  the  whole  subject  of 
logic,  it  would  be  proper  to  point  out  at  large  the  prin- 
ciples which  preside  in  this  process  of  contracting 
thought  and  language.  But  this  must  be  left  to  a  few 
useful  examples — with  the  general  remark  that  the 
reader  must  expect  to  find  the  principles  in  media,  and 
by  means  of  classification — the  former  implying  exten- 
sion in  his  knowledge,  the  latter  its  systematic  arrange- 
ment. 

Burke,  on  the  East  India  Bill — arguing  the  abuse  of 
powers  by  the  Company,  says: 

*  *  The  principle  of  buying  cheap  and  selling  dear  is  the 
first,  the  great  foundation  of  mercantile  dealing.  Have 
they  ever  attended  to  this  principle?"  etc.,  etc. 

*'A  great  deal  of  strictness  in  driving  bargains  for 
whatever  we  contract  is  another  principle  of  mercantile 
policy.  Look  at  the  contracts  that  are  made  for  them," 
etc. 

* '  It  is  a  third  property  of  trading  men  to  see  that  the 
clerks  do  not  divert  the  dealings  of  the  master  to  their 
own  benefit,"  etc. 

' '  It  is  a  fourth  quality  of  a  merchant  to  be  exact  in  his 
accounts.  What  will  be  thought  when  you  have  fully 
before  you  the  mode  of  accounting  made  use  of  in  the 
treasury  of  Bengal?"  etc.,  etc. 

''It  is  a  fifth  quality  of  a  merchant  to  calculate  his 
probable  profits  upon  the  money  he  takes  up  to  vest  in 


214  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

business/'  etc.,  etc.  He  goes  on  to  apply  these  tests  to 
the  affairs  of  the  East  India  Company. 

The  finest  orators  abound  in  examples  of  the  display 
of  this  powerful  principle,  and  none  more  than  Demos- 
thenes and  Cicero.  I  am  tempted  to  translate  an  in- 
stance from  the  former;  it  occurs  in  his  Oration  for  the 
Crown. 

^'What  should,  what  could,  an  Athenian  orator  do? 
Detect  the  evil  in  its  hirth,  make  others  see  it.  I  have 
done  so.  Guard,  as  far  as  possible,  against  delays,  false 
pretexts,  strife  of  interests,  mistakes,  errors,  obstacles  of 
every  kind,  too  common  amongst  allied  and  jealous  re- 
publics. This  I  did.  Attack  all  difficulties  with  zeal, 
and  ardor,  in  the  love  of  duty,  of  friendship  and  con- 
cord. I  did  it.  On  every  one  of  these  points,  I  defy 
the  detection  of  a  fault  in  my  conduct.  If  it  is  de- 
manded. How  then  has  Philip  triumphed?  The  whole 
world  will  answer  for  me :  By  his  all-conquering  arms, 
by  his  all-corrupting  gold.  It  was  not  for  me  to  combat 
the  one  or  the  other.  I  had  no  treasures,  no  soldiers. 
But  with  what  I  did  have,  I  dare  to  assert  that  I  con- 
quered Philip.  How?  By  rejecting  his  bribes,  by  re- 
sisting his  corruption.  When  a  man  lets  himself  be 
bought,  his  buyer  may  be  said  to  triumph  over  him ;  but 
he  who  remains  uncorruptible,  has  triumphed  over  the 
corrupter.  And  thus,  so  far  as  it  depended  upon  Demos- 
thenes, Athens  was  victorious,  Athens  was  invincible. ' ' 

Here  we  might  at  once  close  the  subject,  having  named, 
described,  and  illustrated  from  living  examples,  the 
principles  of  logic  as  applicable  to  argumentative 
speaking.  And  we  believe  that  the  knowledge  of  what  is 
laid  down  in  this  chapter  will  prove  of  material  as- 
sistance, not  only  in  the  business  of  public  speaking,  but 
in  that  of  analyzing  and  judging  of  what  is  spoken  by 


LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR  215 

others.  Our  purpose  does  not  extend  to  anything  be- 
yond the  title  of  the  chapter,  and  is  therefore  confined 
to  convincing,  not  persuasive  oratory,  and  has  naught  to 
do  with  Rhetoric.  As,  however,  Logic  and  Rhetoric  are 
intimately  connected,  and 

"Thin  partitions  do  their  walls  divide," 

it  seems  proper  enough  to  say  somewhat  upon  the  dis- 
positmi  of  discourse,  and  the  07^der  of  arguments.  It 
is  not  enough,  says  Montesquieu,  to  exhibit  many  things 
to  the  understanding;  you  must  exhibit  them  in  order. 

Rhetoricians  reckon  six  parts  of  a  discourse,  viz.,  the 
exordium,  proposition,  narration,  proof,  refutation,  pero- 
ration. Not  that  all  these  necessarily  enter  into  it,  but 
that  they  may  do  so.  The  first  and  last  are,  in  general, 
reserved  for  uncommon  occasions.  In  business  speaking, 
debate,  etc.,  a  man  rises,  perhaps,  with  a  paper  in  his 
hand,  a  resolution,  or  what  not.  He  may  begin  by  citing 
a  remark  just  made  by  another  speaker,  etc.,  etc.  He 
finishes  more  or  less  abruptly,  so  soon  as  he  has  brought 
out  the  statement  of  his  facts,  or  opinion.  Cicero  says 
that  one  must  join  to  the  regular  disposition,  another 
sort  which  avoids  the  rigor  of  precepts  and  accommo- 
dates itself  to  circumstances,  and  that  the  art  itself  com- 
mands you  to  renounce,  at  times,  the  precepts  of  art  in 
the  order  of  your  discourse. 

As  to  the  choice  of  proofs.  It  is  better  to  reject  the 
light  and  feeble  ones,  and  to  insist  upon  those  which  are 
strong  and  convincing — present  these  latter  distinctly, 
and  to  do  so,  separate  them;  but  feebler  ones  should  be 
treated  in  the  oppoiste  way,  i.  e.,  bound  together  like  the 
bundle  of  sticks  in  the  fable.  Here  is  an  example  from 
Quintilian.  He  supposes  a  man  to  be  accused  of  killing 
another  whose  heir  he  had  hoped  to  be,  and  he  com- 


216  LOGIC  OF  THE  ORATOR 

bines  several  circumstances  to  prove  the  accusation. 
^'You  hoped  to  receive  an  inheritance — a  rich  inherit- 
ance ;  you  were  in  great  indigence,  and  actually  beset  by 
your  creditors.  You  had  offended  the  man  whose  heir 
you  expected  to  be,  and  you  knew  that  he  contemplated 
changing  his  will."  No  one  of  these  arguments  alone, 
says  Quintilian,  has  any  great  weight,  but,  taken  to- 
gether, if  they  strike  not  like  the  lightning,  yet  like  hail 
they  come  down  with  repeated  blows. 

The  order  of  proofs  is  of  most  importance.  The  nat- 
ural method,  according  to  the  subject  treated,  is  to  pre- 
serve such  a  succession  as  may,  step  by  step,  open  the 
matter  to  the  mind  of  the  auditor,  and  link  the  parts  so 
together  that  the  chain  of  evidence  and  argumentation 
may  arrest  and  envelop  the  mind  which  responds  to 
truth  and  reason.  Many  Rhetoricians  think  that  the  best 
arrangement  of  arguments  is  that  which  begins  with  the 
more  feeble  and  rises  successively  to  the  most  cogent,  so 
that  the  reasoning  gathers  strength  as  it  advances — 
semper  augeatur  et  crescat  orator.  This  is  an  excellent 
disposition,  undoubtedly,  where  the  case  admits  of  it. 
But  in  general,  the  best  order  is  that  which  at  the  be- 
ginning projects  some  forcible  arguments  which  may 
open  the  way  to  a  favorable  attention  and  conviction,  re- 
serves some  striking  and  decisive  ones  for  the  close,  and 
disposes  the  less  powerful  proofs  midway  between  the 
first  and  last.  This  is  called  by  Quintilian  the  Homeric 
order,  because  such  is  the  order  of  battle  of  which  we 
read  in  Homer.  Nestor,  arraying  his  troops,  puts  in 
front  the  elite  of  the  armed  chariots,  next  the  less  re- 
liable body  of  soldiers,  and  last,  in  reserve,  a  brave  and 
numerous  infantry. 


CHAPTER  XXYII 

THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

In  treating  this  branch  of  the  art,  we  shall  be  as  plain 
as  possible.  In  the  first  place,  as  experiment  is  out  of 
the  question,  we  must  endeavor  to  establish  an  under- 
standing with  the  reader  by  descriptions  of  the 
phenomena  which  will  be  referred  to. 

The  kind  of  voice  adapted  to  the  exercise  and  business 
of  public  speaking,  is  not  the  voice  of  ordinary  con- 
versation. It  is  a  larger  utterance.  The  sound  origi- 
nates deeper,  possesses  more  swell,  is  longer  drawn  out, 
flies  to  a  greater  distance. 

It  is  not  the  singing  voice.  The  difference  between 
these  two,  every  ear  perceives  and  appreciates. 

Between  the  speaking  and  the  singing  voice  is  inter- 
posed the  voice  of  recitative. 

The  speaking  voice,  either  developed  or  not,  is  pos- 
sessed by  all  men  in  different  degrees,  but  not  in  a  high 
degree  by  any  who  are  unpracticed  in  its  employment. 

Let  the  reader  imagine  himself  calling  to  a  person  at 
the  distance  of  seventy  or  eighty  feet  from  him.  Let 
him  answer  suddenly  and  earnestly.  No!  Let  him  ask 
the  question,  How?  Let  him  give  warning — Fly! 
Fire!  If  he  perform  these  experiments  fairly  and 
justly,  he  will  not  fail  to  employ  in  them  his  speaking 
voice.  In  doing  this,  certain  observations  will  occur  to 
him.  He  will  perceive  that  the  mouth  and  throat  are 
more  opened  than  in  ordinary  speech,  and  that  he  has 

217 


218       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

dwelt  longer  on  the  sounds:  the  chest  will  have  been 
more  exhausted  of  its  air,  and  he  will  probably  have 
found  it  needful  as  a  preliminary  to  draw  a  quick  in- 
spiration, before  sending  forth  the  sudden  compact 
volume  of  sound.  The  part  of  the  voice  thus  abruptly 
called  into  play  will  be  the  upper  part  of  it.  Especially 
is  this  the  case  if  the  vocal  organs  be  untrained,  for  it 
is  only  a  pretty  well  exercised  human  voice  that  can  so 
exert  and  display  itself  on  its  lower  notes. 

The  first  attainment  of  vocal  power,  is  quantity — ^the 
ability  to  continue  the  sound,  to  elongate  lhe~utterance. 
The  reader  may  consider  that  time  in  utterance,  in  other 
words  extended  quantity,  is  a  condition  of  being  heard. 
Sound  traverses  space  at  a  certain  definite  rate,  and  syl- 
lables grow  indistinct  to  the  ear,  from  the  effect  of  dis- 
tance, as  objects  do  to  the  eye.  Hence,  in  both  cases, 
they  must  be  enlarged  in  order  to  be  well  perceived. 
Syllables,  rapidly  enunciated,  cannot  be  caught  in  their 
due  proportions  by  the  ear  at  a  distance,  as  experiment 
easily  demonstrates.  We  insist,  therefore,  rigorously 
upon  this  first  quality  and  eminent  distinction  of  the 
speaking  voice — quantity — as  directly  related  to  both 
time  and  space. 

As'lT'^fsT'e^ercise,  for  breaking  in  the  voice  to  its 
function  of  public  and  expanded  utterance,  a  table  of 
vowel  sounds  is  here  furnished.  The  words  adjoined  are 
the  sounds  to  be  used  in  practice. 

a  as  in  March !    Afar ! 

a  as  in  Halt!     Call! 

a  as  in  Hail !    A  sail !    Awake ! 

o  as  in  Cold!    No.    Unfold.    Wo! 

i  as  in  Fire!     Rise!    Deny. 

00  as  in  Whoop !     Do.     Cool. 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING       219 

ee    as  in  Heed.    Weep.    Speed! 
oi    as  in  Boy !    Deploy.    Noise, 
u    as  in  Hew !    Muse.    Furies. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  separating  the  vowel  sounds 
on  the  left  out  of  the  words  on  the  right,  above,  but  at 
the  beginning  it  is  better  to  practice  the  words,  and  to  at- 
tach a  meaning  and  infuse  an  intentional  emphasis  into 
them.  Sound  and  sense  should  not  be  divided  in  speech. 
The  learner  may  drawl  the  words,  by  way  of  occasional 
experiment,  and  in  order  to  mark  to  his  ear  the  signifi- 
cant properties  of  great,  prolonged  quantity.  A  voice 
quite  unused  to  this  sort  of  exertion  can  rarely  perform 
it,  at  once,  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  Some  time  and 
some  repetition  are  necessary  to  give  the  instrument  of 
vocality  the  requisite  degree  of  expansion.  The  want  of 
this  expansion,  and  of  the  flexibility  which  attends  it,  is 
no  doubt  the  cause,  together  with  a  hurried  execution, 
of  so  many  injured  and,  indeed,  ruined  voices  among 
public  speakers.  I  think  Roger  Ascham  it  is  who  as- 
serts that  of  all  human  functions  that  of  the  voice  is  the 
most  improvable.  And  as  to  the  influence  of  its  judi- 
cious exercise  upon  the  health.  Dr.  Rush  attributes  the 
comparative  freedom  of  the  Germans  from  pulmonary 
affections  to  their  much  use  of  the  voice  in  vocal  music. 
Let  the  practice  of  elocution,  therefore,  be  moderate  al- 
ways at  first,  and  never  forced,  at  any  time.  Ease  and 
pleasantness  is  a  pretty  good  criterion  of  correctness  in 
the  execution  of  exercises.  Is  the  performance  of  any 
normal  function  unaccompanied  with  pleasure? 

Following  the  tenor  of  these  injunctions,  the  learner 
will  soon  discover  a  growing  improvement.  Let  him, 
then,  fix  his  attention,  if  the  opportunity  offers,  upon 
any  public  speaker,  and  the  extreme  probability  is  that 


220       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

he  will  observe  sometliing  of  this  sort.  The  speaker's 
voice,  in  the  course  of  its  flight,  will  exercise  a  manifest 
choice  among  the  vowel  sounds  which  are  ranged  in  the 
foregoing  table.  This  will  be  carried  so  far  as,  at  times, 
to  interfere  with  the  due  emphasis. 

The  sounds  of  ee  and  oo  are  the  most  trying  to  the 
voice,  those  of  a  (in  far)  and  o  (in  bold)  are  in  gen- 
eral the  easiest.  The  former  of  these  is  that  which  the 
infant  makes  his  debut  upon.  The  cause  of  all  this  is 
an  organic  one,  existing  in  the  formation  of  the  throat. 
There  are  comparatively  few  voices  which  can  emphasize 
at  will,  and  with  equal  indifference,  all  these  long  vowel 
sounds. 

It  is  worth  while  to  examine  a  certain  connection 
which  subsists  amongst  the  foregoing  sounds.  Ee  and 
00,  you  will  find,  in  prolonging  them,  are  pure,  unmixed 
vowels ;  they  begin  and  terminate  in  the  one  sound.  Not 
so  with  the  others.  The  first  two  a's  (those  in  far  and 
in  hall)  end  on  a  faint  sound  of  u — as  in  hurr.  All  the 
rest  vanish  either  in  ee  or  in  oo.  Ee  and  oo  are  in  ef- 
fect the  media  between  vowel  and  consonant  sounds. 
Ee  is  y  and  oo  is  w,  when  they  are  abbreviated.  Ee-ou 
and  you,  oo-ave  and  wave,  can  the  ear  detect  any  real 
difference?  The  two  difficult  sounds,  viz.,  ee  and  oo 
are  the  shibboleth  of  public  speakers,  few  of  whom  do 
not,  at  times,  throw  a  wrong  emphasis,  in  order  to  let 
the  voice  light  on  some  other  vowel  which  it  can  play 
upon  with  better  effect.  I  advise  the  young  speaker  to 
devote  his  continual  attention  to  these  two  sounds, 
dwelling  on  them  long,  swelling  them,  forming  sentences 
to  practice  out  of  words  which  embody  them,  etc.  The 
purpose  is  not  alone  the  obtaining  of  a  control  over  these 
two  themselves,  but  he  will  be  certain  to  find  that  he 
has  along  with  that  acquired  an  expansion  of  the  voice 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING       221 

which  will  be  perceived  decidedly  on  all  the  other  easier 
vowel  sounds. 

The  usual  division  of  the  pitch  of  the  voice  is  into 
upper,  middle  and  lower,  and  this  will  answer  our  pres- 
ent purpose.  Everybody  knows  that  usually,  in  asking 
a  question,  the  voice  runs  from  low  to  high,  and  in  an- 
swering, it  turns  its  course,  running  downward.  Now 
exaggerate  this  phenomenon,  in  order  to  examine  it  well. 
One  calls  to  another,  at  some  distance,  to  learn  what  he 
wants,  ''The  halW  ''No!  the  skate!''  These  con- 
trary movements  of  the  voice,  found  universally,  would 
here  present  themselves.  The  more  intensified  the  in- 
quiry and  reply,  the  further  up  and  down  would  the 
vocal  slide  proceed.  Elocutionists  of  very  different 
schools  (as  Smart  and  Rush)  recommend  the  practice 
of  these  slides.  You  take  the  vowels  in  the  foregoing 
table,  and  beginning  low  down  in  pitch  slowly  and  con- 
tinually glide  upward  to  the  vanishing  point — a  mewing 
sort  of  sound  will  result — reverse  the  direction  of  the 
voice,  letting  it  descend  as  low  as  convenient.  Apply 
the  same  movements  to  the  words  also. 

We  must  now  form  a  second  table  of  vowel  sounds, 
which  will  consist  of  the  short  vowels  of  our  tongue,  as 
follows : 

i  as  in  ill,  pit,  wit. 
e  as  in  let,  dwell,  men. 
o  as  in  bog,  hollow,  not. 
a  as  in  hag,  lambent,  clan, 
u  as  in  hurl,  cur,  burden, 
i  as  in  sir,  mirth,  hers,  err. 
o  as  in  book,  push,  full, 
u  as  in  cut,  flutter,  cull. 

On  these  sounds  the  voice  can  glide  readily  up  and 


222       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

down,  as  on  the  long  ones,  but  in  general  it  strikes  them 
more  rapidly,  and  emphasizes  them  with  less  quantity. 
An  exercise  on  these  vowel  sounds  similar  to  that  pre- 
scribed for  the  former  ones  is  recommended.  And,  let 
it  be  noticed  that  those  others  are  susceptible  of  a  brief, 
firm,  stress,  as  well  as  these.  That  is,  these  can  be  pro- 
longed, and  those  contracted  in  their  utterance. 

We  must  finish  the  exposition  of  the  alphabet  in  re- 
gard to  its  spoken  qualities,  before  furnishing  some 
fuller  examples  for  practice.  The  statement  is  an  old 
one,  and  is  still  repeated  in  the  elementary  books — ^that 
a  consonant  cannot  he  sounded  hy  itself.  If  it  really 
could  not  be  sounded  alone,  it  certainly  never  could  be 
in  combination — for  what  would  the  combination  be  com- 
posed of?  Let  us  try  an  experiment,  on  the  child's  les- 
son in  syllables.  Says  the  young  speller — a — ^b,  ab. 
Now  take  away  the  a,  and  what  can  then  be  enunciated 
is  the  sound  of  h.  All — take  the  a  from  the  syllable  and 
the  remnant  of  sound  is  1,  which  you  may  continue  as 
long  as  you  please.  The  mistake  arises  from  confound- 
ing the  name  with  the  power  of  the  consonant. 

The  reader  will  find  not  the  least  difficulty  in  enunciat- 
ing all  the  consonantal  sounds  separately.  Now  some 
of  these  can  be  prolonged,  and  some  are,  by  nature, 
short.  Those  that  can  be  prolonged  are  placed  below, 
in  the  order  of  their  capability  of  quantity.  L,  m,  n,  r 
(final),  are  those  usually  called  liquids.  They  all  take 
quantity.  Z,  zh,  th,  b,  d,  v,  ng,  g,  j,  also  admit  of  pro- 
longation— the  rest  do  not.  The  former  should  be  run 
up  and  down,  as  in  questioning  and  replying.  Try  I,  for 
example.  You  will  readily  find  that  you  could  employ 
it  as  a  syllable  and  ask  a  question,  or  give  an  answer 
upon  it  alone.  Doing  this,  you  have  the  ready  key  to 
the  utterance  of  all  the  others. 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING        223 

Orthoepists  agree  in  enforcing  the  principle  that  the 
consonants  must  never  be  prolonged — any  of  them — be- 
fore, a  vowel  in  the  same  syllable.  For  instance,  you 
may  pronounce  swe-11 — prolonging  the  1 — but  never 
1-ove  or  Zow,  elongating  the  initial  1;  it  is  a  barbarism. 
To  what  use  does  the  voice  put  this  property  in  the  con- 
sonants of  admitting  length  of  sound?  A  very  simple 
and  effective  one  indeed.  The  voice  makes  this  property 
a  means  of  adding  to  the  great  resource  of  quantity  in 
syllables.  It  distributes  a  part  of  the  sound  over  the 
consonant. 

Let  the  reader  turn  to  the  table  of  short  vowels,  take 
the  first  word,  and  ask  a  sudden  and  excited  question 
on  it,  thus — ill?  He  will  find  that  the  sound,  quitting 
the  vowel,  rises  on  the  continued  enunciation  of  the  I. 
Hence  the  need  of  being  able  to  prolong  those  of  the 
consonant  elements  which  admit  of  prolongation.  The 
effect,  as  respects  syllables,  is  to  add  to  the  number  of 
long  ones,  in  speech,  varying  thus  the  resources  of  quan- 
tity. We  here  complete  that  indispensable  basis  of  the 
subject,  the  alphabet  of  speech.  It  is  seen  that  there  is 
a  wide  difference  between  the  elements  as  spoken  and 
spelled — for  example  meat  and  meet,  sea  and  see,  con- 
tain all  the  same  spoken  vowel,  or  vowel  sound. 

We  proceed  to  describe  some  exercises  of  the  vocal 
organs  which  tend  directly  to  fit  them  for  the  severe  ex- 
ertion of  public  speaking.  Several  of  these  have  not 
before  appeared  in  print,  but  the  learner  may  safely 
rely  upon  them,  and  trial  will  furnish  a  sufficient  evi- 
dence of  their  utility. 

In  all  ordinary  cases,  what  the  voice  requires  is  ex- 
pansion— a  setting  it  free  from  the  narrow  modes  of 
action  of  conversation  and  business.  We  do  not  now 
refer  to  depth  proper,  which  relates  to  the  scale,  and  is 


224       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

expressed  by  up  and  down,  high  and  low;  but  the  mean- 
ing is,  that  whether  the  pitch  be  high  or  low,  a  fuller, 
broader  sound — more  volume — is,  generally,  the  require- 
ment of  the  unexercised  voice.  Breadth  is  precisely  the 
property  we  refer  to  as  that  which  is  usually  wanting, 
and  to  its  attainment  the  first  efforts  should  be  addressed. 
Were  there  space,  we  might  explain  how  this  quality  of 
speech  and  utterance  is  connected  with  vocal  function, 
but  at  present  it  suffices  to  describe  it  and  indicate  the 
modes  of  attaining  it — the  practitioner's  own  observation 
and  experience  will  carry  him  further  afterward. 

Breath  being  the  raw  material  out  of  which  vocality 
Is  staped,  ffie  first  alteration  of  breathing  into  voice  may 
be  said  to  be  the  whisper,  and  that  is  the  last  form  in 
which  the  human  voice  manifests  itself — the  sigh  of 
death  is  utterance  without  articulation.  Aspiration  is 
the  intermediary  between  resonant  sound  and  breath- 
ing, and  in  that  sort  of  passionate  exertion  in  which 
voice  is,  as  it  were,  choked  by  excess  of  feeling,  it  de- 
scends into  whisper  and  aspiration.  The  letter  h,  as  a 
sound,  will  thus  be  seen  to  be  intimately  connected  with 
the  radical  functions  of  speech.  Dr.  Rush,  in  his  Philos- 
ophy of  the  Voice,  fully  recognizes  this  fact. 

Let  us  invite  notice  to  the  common  phenomenon  of 
the  sound  an  engine  makes  at  a  railway  depot.  The 
slowly-escaping  steam  sends  forth  an  expiration  not  un- 
like the  vocal  quality  of  the  letter  h.  If  the  reader  put 
the  aspirate  h  before  each  of  the  long  vowels,  and  draw 
them  out  in  a  low,  prolonged  effort,  in  imitation  of  the 
sound  just  indicated,  he  will  hit  the  idea  we  are  trying 
to  express.  The  sound  meant  is  not  a  whisper,  not 
husky,  but  it  is  round  and  full,  a  not  unmusical  mur- 
mur.   The  exercise  may  run  from  high  to  low,  and  the 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING       225 

contrary  on  all  the  vowels.  Its  effect  is  to  mellow, 
deepen,  soften  and  expand  the  tones  of  the  voice. 

Listening  again  to  the  engine  about  to  start  away,  the 
steam,  dry  and  clear,  bursts  forth  in  a  deafening  vol- 
ume; it  has  found  full  voice,  the  muffled  expiration  is 
merged  into  pure  resonant  sound;  the  pitch  is  so  high 
that  it  is  shrill.  Take,  now,  again,  the  long  vowels, 
and  putting  h  before  each  of  them  in  turn,  throw  the 
voice  into  its  upper  keys,  as  far  up  the  scale  as  is  con- 
venient, and  pronounce,  somewhat  forcibly,  and  with 
reasonable  length,  the  syllables  Hee,  hoo,  hay,  hah,  haw, 
ho,  how,  high,  hew,  hoi.  This  is  a  severe  exercise.  It 
will  tire  the  muscles  of  the  neck.  Pause  five  or  ten 
minutes  when  fatigued,  and  repeat  the  exercise  on  the 
middle  of  the  voice.  Finish  by  applying  it  with 
strength  on  the  lower  notes.  Your  ear  will  discover, 
very  early,  that  the  contracted,  thin,  inefficient  quality 
of  the  utterance  yields  to  this  exercise.  The  kind  of 
sound  produced  is  true  effective  vocality,  not  dissimilar 
to  that  heard  in  the  second  instance,  from  the  locomo- 
tive engine. 

There  is  a  mode  of  exerting  the  voice  in  speech  which, 
in  importance,  rivals  that  on  which  we  have  been  dwell- 
ing. Quantity  is  distinguished  by  time;  this  other  is 
marked  by  impulse.  The  former  regards  extension,  and 
the  latter  concentration  of  vocal  effort.  The  two  are 
the  great  governing  articles  of  speech,  however  speech 
may  be  employed.  "We  now  invite  the  reader's  atten- 
tion to  the  exposition  of  the  second  element,  which  may 
be  called  stress. 

"Whenever  the  animal  organism  is  about  to  make  a 
strenuous  momentary  effort  there  is  a  preparatory  move- 
ment.   Be  it  to  lift,  to  leap,  to  strike,  the  breath  is  drawn 


226       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

deeply  and  the  orifice  of  breathing  is  shut,  and  from 
the  chest  so  filled  and  enlarged  the  act  originates,  and 
without  this  preparative  it  is  impossible.  The  same 
holds  good  in  vocal  effort,  taking  place  when  a  sudden, 
violent  outcry  is  to  be  made.  All  experience  agrees  in 
this  fact,  hence  the  philosophy  of  it  may  be  here  omitted. 

If  the  pupil  will,  then,  draw  a  full  breath — as  if  about 
to  lift  a  heavy  weight — shutting  the  epiglottis  for  one 
instant,  and  at  the  next  impel  with  a  decisive  effort, 
any  one  of  the  long  vowels — a(h)  for  example — he  will 
have  ^* exploded'^  the  vowel.  This  needs  not  be  done 
violently.  A  little  practice  will  enable  the  ear  to  dis- 
cover that  the  sound  is  a  pure  and  abstracted  form  of 
that  which  plays  a  conspicuous  part  in  oral  language. 
At  first,  the  short  vowels  are  the  easier  to  manifest  the 
quality  of  stress,  but  the  practice  should  extend  to  all 
the  vowel  sounds,  and,  afterward,  should  include  words. 
Judiciously  performed,  this  exercise  strengthens  the 
voice,  and  renders  it,  in  a  high  degree,  audible — ^but  the 
excess  of  it  is  not  to  be  recommended — as  it  involves  a 
certain  harshness  of  character.  In  general,  the  ex- 
tended sound  of  the  long  vowels,  together  with  the 
abrupt  utterance  of  the  short  ones,  in  the  unaccented 
syllables,  makes  up  the  agreeable  diversity  of  human 
speech.  The  learner  is  recommended  to  attain  the 
power  of  leaning  and  continuing  his  voice  with  great  de- 
liberateness  on  all  the  vowels,  and  likewise  that  of  strik- 
ing them  all  with  a  prompt,  free,  and  tripping  utter- 
ance. These  two  lessons  accomplished,  and  another,  of 
varying  the  pitch,  that  is,  going  in  turn  easily  into  the 
different  elevations  of  the  voice,  will  be  a  good  deal 
gained  for  the  purposes  of  effective  speaking  or  reading. 

As  to  the  scale,  a  part  of  what  we  have  already  pre- 
scribed will  assist  in  regard  to  it.    An  additional  exer- 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING        227 

cise  is  to  select  some  lines,  and  beginning  them  in  the 
lowest  pitch  gradually  rise,  in  reading  them,  to  the  high- 
est, and  inversely.  Walker  prescribes,  for  this  purpose, 
the  recitation  of  the  terrible  adjuration  of  Macbeth  to 
the  Witches,  in  Shakespeare.  It  is  a  great  cause  of 
monotony,  that  of  not  varying  sufficiently  the  pitch. 
Slight  variations  even  would  relieve  the  sameness,  both 
to  the  ear  of  the  hearer  and  to  the  organs  of  the  speaker. 
The  power  to  speak  long  and  with  the  exertion  of  force 
is  largely  dependent  upon  proper  variety — in  pitch,  in 
time,  rate  of  utterance,  and  modes  of  emphasis.  Besides 
it  is  the  natural  way,  and  therefore  easy  and  agreeable. 

We  are  now  to  speak  of  that  important  matter  Em- 
phasis. To  do  this  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  there  must 
be  some  elementary  points  first  inculcated.  Many  read- 
ers will  be  aware  already  that  the  force  of  the  voice  may 
fall,  with  diverse  effects,  upon  different  parts  of  the 
emphatic  syllable.  Dr.  Rush  has  beautifully  elucidated 
this  topic,  so  obscure  and  indefined,  before  he  wrote 
upon  it.  You  may  strike  the  first  part  of  the  syllable 
with  a  disproportionate  force  as  in  imperative  emphasis, 
as  ''Go,''  ''Die,''  ''Come,"  uttered  passionately. 

The  middle  may  receive  the  distinction  by  opening 
softly  on  the  syllable,  swelling  the  tone  as  it  advances, 
and  letting  it  fail,  or  faint  away  toward  the  close — 
''(r  Prions."  "Harmonious  mysteries."  "To  die.'' 
''To  sleep.'' 

It  may  be  the  end  of  the  syllables  that  the  voice  presses 
upon— as,  ''You,  Prince  of  Wales?"  "I  told  you  so?" 
It  is  a  sort  of  jerk  at  the  end. 

Many  persons,  in  ordinary  talking,  indulge  themselves 
in  one  or  other  of  these  forms  of  emphasis,  to  the  neg- 
lect of  the  others,  but  all  are  constantly  met  with,  and 
will  be  readily  identified  by  an  attentive  observer.    The 


228      THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

first  and  second  are  more  used  in  public  utterance  than 
the  last;  but  he  who  is  called  to  address  bodies  of  men 
ought  to  accustom  himself  to  putting  any  one  of  these 
forms  on  all  the  vowel  sounds,  and  also  on  words  chosen 
for  the  purpose. 

The  foregoing  are  ways  of  rendering  single  words  con- 
spicuous; but,  generally,  any  marked  alteration  in  the 
ordinary  current  of  discourse  bestows  emphasis.  A 
change  from  vocalizing  to  whispering  is  one  very  sig- 
nificant means  of  emphasizing ;  a  sudden  descent,  or  rise, 
in  the  scale  is  another.  A  change  in  force,  in  the  rate 
of  the  utterance,  a  pause  more  or  less  prolonged,  are 
all  means  of  giving  emphasis,  that  is,  distinction  to  por- 
tions of  discourse.  These  latter  belong  rather  to  clauses 
and  sentences  than  to  single  words.  For  one  example 
of  a  single  way,  let  us  suppose  the  passionate  and  in- 
sulting expression.  You  lie,  is  uttered.  If  the  first  word 
is  spoken  in  a  low  key,  and  the  second  far  up  the  scale, 
with  the  force  on  the  first  part  of  the  vowel  i,  and  this 
latter  afterward  continued  downward,  the  feeling  which 
accompanies  it  will  have  been  expressed. 

The  subject  of  accent  has  employed  and  defied  the  in- 
genuity of  scholars  for  ages.  But  this  is  because  there 
exist  no  sufficient  data  to  determine  clearly  the  nature 
of  the  Greek  and  Latin  accentuation.  As  respects  a  liv- 
ing tongue  the  case  is  quite  otherwise.  In  our  English, 
every  word  of  more  than  one  syllable  has  one  of  them 
distinguished  by  accent — ^that  is,  it  has  more  of  the  force 
of  the  voice  upon  it.  Now  it  is  found  that  the  voice 
cannot  conveniently  interpose  between  two  accented 
syllables  more  than  four  unaccented  ones.  In  rude  lan- 
guages, they  cannot  permit  even  so  many.  Ellis,  in  his 
Polynesian  Researches,  found  that  the  natives  regularly 
accented  every  other  syllable.    A  similar  fact  is  per- 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING       229 

ceived  among  the  American  tribes.  We  pronounce  the 
word  Seminole  (in  four  syllables)  with  one  accent,  the 
people  of  that  tribe  call  the  name  Seminole.  The  name 
of  one  of  their  chiefs  is  pronounced  by  the  whites,  Hola- 
toochee,  by  the  Indians,  Holatoochee. 

The  organs  cannot  enunciate  consecutively,  without 
an  hiatus,  two  accented  syllables.  This  may  be  con- 
sidered an  ultimate  fact  of  human  speech.  Keep — ^pace, 
for  instance,  with  the  accent  on  each  word,  must  have 
an  interval  of  pause  between  them;  the  article  the  can 
be  put  between  them  without  the  least  addition  to  the 
time  of  the  whole  utterance.  This  accentual  pause,  ex- 
ercises an  important  influence  over  emphasis.  It  serves 
to  confer  time  on  that  kind  of  emphatic  syllables  which 
is  incapable  of  prolongation,  and  obtains  in  this  way  the 
advantage  of  quantity.  To  exemplify  this  interesting 
phenomenon — 

"Cut — short  all  intermission. 
Front — ^to  front  bring  thou,"  etc. 

Shakespeabe. 

That  is,  the  tim^  which  cannot  be  expended  upon 
the  short  syllables  is  apportioned  to  them  in  the  form 
of  pausing.  I  hope  the  intelligent  reader  sees  what  an 
unforceful  blunder  it  is  in  a  speaker  to  disregard  this 
vocal  principle,  which,  duly  observed,  assists  the  utter- 
ance, the  breathing,  the  sense,  and  the  ear  of  the  audi- 
tor. Take,  for  a  further  example,  the  furious  exclama- 
tion of  Coriolanus,  "Cut  me  to  pieces!"  Here  the  two 
unaccented  syllables,  *'me  to"  fill  up  what  before  in 
'  *  Cut — short ' '  was  assigned  to  an  accentual  pause.  The 
whole  time  of  the  two  clauses  is  equal. 

From  the  former  principle  the  next  is  at  once  derived. 
The  voice  passes  lightly  over  the  unaccented  syllables, 


230       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

and  skips,  or  steps,  from  accent  to  accent.  Speech  is 
thus  reduced  to  measure.  In  the  lines  from  Pope,  which 
follow,  the  spaces  separate  the  measures. 

"Why  then,  a      B6rgia,  or  a         Catiline? 

Wh6       kii6ws    but      He    whose       hand    the    lightning       forms, 

Who    heaves      old       (3cean,    and    who      wings    the       stOrms?" 

An  advantage  from  the  practice  of  reading  the  vari- 
ous kinds  of  verse,  is  that  the  voice  becomes  habituated 
to  observe  measure  duly.  But  prose  likewise  requires 
it,  and  ease  and  force  of  delivery  imperatively  demand 
a  proper  conformity  to  it. 

Emphasis  always  falls,  by  necessity,  upon  some  ac- 
cented syllable.  The  effect  of  accent  is  to  distinguish 
words  one  from  another.  They  are  known  as  separate 
words  by  means  of  the  accent  which  ties  together  the 
several  syllables.  A  proof  of  this  may  be  seen  by  the 
experiment  of  misplacing  the  accents  on  a  succession 
of  words  which  compose  a  sentence.  A  jargon  will  re- 
sult, which,  if  intelligible  at  all,  is  so  only  by  reason  of 
the  resemblance  to  what  is  previously  known  under  true 
accentuation.  What  belongs  to  accent  extends  itself  to 
emphasis.  Without  accent,  words  would  not  be  distin- 
guished from  one  another;  without  emphasis,  clauses 
would  not  be.  The  syllable  accented  distinguishes  the 
word,  the  word  emphasized  gives  meaning  to  the  sen- 
tence. 

But  emphasis  demands  yet  more.  It  requires  a  pause 
after  each  subdivision  into  which  it  cuts  discourse.  The 
breathing  asks  for  this,  as  well  as  the  ear.  The  ear  re- 
quires it  because  it  can  take  in  the  word  with  its  accent, 
without  necessarily  any  pause,  from  knowing  the  word 
already,  but  the  clause  of  emphasis  it  has  to  learn,  and 
these  must  be  separated  and  distinguished  by  interven- 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING       231 

ing  pauses,  or  the  ear  can  not  make  the  arrangement 
of  the  sense.  We  mean,  then,  in  fine,  that  emphasis 
ties  together  words  into  detached  groups,  forming,  as 
it  were,  a  species  of  longer  words ;  that  pauses  interpose 
between  this  longer  sort  of  words,  and  hence,  that  pauses, 
that  is,  the  principal  ones,  for  the  most  part,  depend 
on  emphasis.  Emphasis  is  the  law  and  life  of  discourse. 
Better  that  all  else  go  wrong  than  it. 

Trusting  that  the  reader  will  not  lightly  pass  over  the 
principles  now  inculcated,  we  shall  proceed  to  put  down 
a  number  of  illustrative  examples  of  these  emphasis- 
words — calling  them  thus  in  order  to  fix  the  idea: 

"But-\vith-the  froward        he-was-fierce-as-^re." 

The  italicized  words  are  to  the  clauses  of  meaning 
what  accent  is  to  individual  words. 

"Poured-thTough-the    mellow    horn        her-pensive-«(mZ 
In-hollow-murmurs        died-&waj." 

"Grace-was-in-all-her  motions        Heaven-in-her-eye. 
iTL-exeTj-action        dignity-and-loye." 

"Alexander-Sit-a,-ie3ist  surrounded-by-^ai^erers  heated- with- 
icine  over  come-h  J- anger  led-hy -3.-concubine  is-a-forcible-ea?- 
ample  that-the-conqueror-of-fcin^fdows  may-have-negleeted-the- 
conquest-of  himself." 

"1-liave-but-one-lam.p  by-whieh-my-feet-are-guided  a,nd-that 
i8-ihe-la.m]^-ot-experience." 

"Whence      and  ichat      art-thou      execrahle-shapeV* 

"If-thou-dost-sZo/wZer  her       and   torture-me 
Never-pray-more        a6andon-all-remorse." 

The  foregoing  must  suffice  for  illustrations  of  the 
principles,  which  the  reader  can  readily  apply  to  any 
desirable  extent.    He  will  see  that  the  thought  governs 


232       THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

the  expression  absolutely,  and  that  the  due  interchange 
of  sound  and  silence  is  intelligible  speech. 

In  essaying  to  speak  to  bodies  of  men,  the  first  and 
chief  thing  is  to  hit  rightly,  with  due  quantity  and 
stress,  those  commanding  words  in  the  discourse,  to 
which  the  others  annex  themselves,  and  to  which  they 
are  subordinated.  On  each  of  them  send  forth  the  voice 
in  the  manner  described  at  the  beginning — ^loudly,  and 
even  violently  at  first,  if  needful.  And  be  persuaded 
that  speaking  and  talking  are  not  the  same  thing,  what- 
ever may  be  said  about  a  *' natural''  manner,  and  so 
forth.  To  impress  masses  of  listeners,  there  must  be 
something  more  strenuous  than  ordinary  talk.  Not  thus 
did  the  Athenian  ^'fulmine  over  Greece,"  nor  TuUy — 
who  calls  the  right  arm  the  weapon  of  the  orator — sway 
the  Boman  senate. 

The  following  short  extract  from  Webster's  address 
on  the  centennial  birthday  of  "Washington  we  select  to 
be  spoken.  The  words  where  the  vigor  of  the  voice 
should  be  felt  are  marked.  We  advise  that  the  learner 
quit  the  tone  of  conversation,  and  setting  his  utterance 
free  from  its  trammels  and  bondage,  urge  it  forth  in 
broad,  prolonged,  emphatic  speaking.  Let  him  possess 
his  mind  with  the  determination  of  controlling  an  audi- 
ence, and  carrying  their  full  feelings  along  with  him. 

**But  let  us  hope  for  better  things.  Let  us  trust  in 
that  GRACIOUS  Being  who  has  hitherto  held  our"  country 
as  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  Let  us  trust  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Washington's  example.  A  hundred  years 
hence,  other  disciples  of  Washington  will  celebrate  his 
birth  with  no  less  of  sincere  admiration  than  we  now 
commemorate  it.  When  they  shall  meet,  as  we  now 
meet,  to  do  themselves  and  him  that  honor,  so  surely 


THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING       233 

as  they  shall  see  the  blue  summits  of  his  native  moun- 
tains RISE  in  the  horizon,  so  surely  may  they  see,  as 
WE  NOW  see,  the  FLAG  of  the  Union  floating  on  the  top 
of  the  Capitol;  and  then,  as  now,  may  the  sun  in  his 
course  visit  no  land  more  free,  more  happy,  more 
LOVELY,  than  this  our  own  country.'' 

So  soon  as  the  learner  shall  have  caught  the  way  of 
utterance*  which  belongs  to*  the  extraordinary  occasions 
of  public  speaking,  so  soon  as  he  shall  begin  to  be  able 
to  manifest  it  in  single  words  and  next  on  brief  clauses, 
he  will  be  able  to  advance  to  the  complete  attainment 
of  the  speaking  voice.  I  think  the  acquisition  is  not 
much  unlike  learning  to  swim — it  is  something  new  at- 
tained, and  once  gotten  is  never  lost.  Of  its  value  and 
popular  appreciation,  we  need  not  stop  to  say  an}i;hing. 

In  Gardiner's  Music  of  Nature,  it  is  shown  that  a 
musical  sound  flies  further  than  another  kind  of  sound. 
He  says  that  at  a  distance  from  Donnybrook,  when  the 
great  fair  was  going  forward,  the  notes  of  the  violins 
came  clear  and  distinct  to  the  ear,  while  the  duller 
noises  and  din  that  prevailed  around  them  were  lost,  or 
reduced  to  a  faint  murmur.  The  same  writer  states 
that  the  connoisseurs  did  not  seek  the  nearest  seats  when 
Paganini  played  in  England,  but  preferred  more  re- 
tired places,  where  his  exquisite  instrument  overrode 
the  storm  of  the  orchestra.  This  principle  obtains  in 
the  superior  audibility  of  trained  voices,  which  is  al- 
ways accompanied  with  an  improved  ease  of  delivery. 
The  main  ingredient  of  clear  and  resonant  tone  is  a  dis- 
charge of  all  huskiness  or  aspiration  from  it — except, 
of  course,  where  these  are  expressly  called  for  as  an 
element  of  expression.  The  smaller  the  measure  of 
breath  put  forth,  the  clearer  and  purer  the  tone,  in  gen- 


234      THE  VOICE  IN  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

eral,  produced.  Because  the  more  completely  is  the  col- 
umn of  air  put  into  vibration,  the  less,  too,  the  fatigue, 
necessarily.  With  practice,  the  power  to  vibrate  fully 
a  larger  expiration  is  found  to  increase. 

The  ability  to  make  one's  voice  travel  far  depends 
upon  ringing  it  against  the  roof  of  the  mouth — forcing, 
as  it  were,  the  breath  to  strike  against  the  center  of  the 
archway  which  the  roof  forms.  I  have  also  remarked 
that  speakers,  when  addressing  audiences  in  the  open 
air,  have,  not  unfrequently,  a  tendency  to  curve  the  lips 
outward,  trumpet-fashion,  which,  of  course,  projects  the 
sound.  These  experiments  may  be  made  on  all  the 
vowels. 

We  will  close  with  an  extract  from  an  old  work,  on 
the  power  of  music,  which  may  interest  the  reader: 
*'In  the  year  1714,  in  an  opera  that  was  performed  at 
Ancona,  there  was,  in  the  beginning  of  the  third  act,  a 
passage  of  recitative,  unaccompanied  by  any  other  in- 
strument but  the  bass,  which  raised,  both  in  the  pro- 
fessors and  in  the  rest  of  the  audience,  such  and  so  great 
a  commotion  of  mind,  that  we  could  not  help  staring  at 
one  another  on  account  of  the  visible  change  of  color 
that  was  caused  in  every  one's  countenance.  The  ef- 
fect was  not  of  the  plaintive  kind.  I  remember  well 
that  the  words  expressed  indignation;  but  of  so  harsh 
and  chilling  a  nature  that  the  mind  was  disordered  by 
it.  Thirteen  times  this  drama  was  performed,  and  the 
same  effect  always  followed,  and  that,  too,  universally; 
of  which  the  remarkable  previous  silence  of  the  audience 
to  prepare  themselves  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  effect 
was  an  undoubted  sign." — Stilli^ig fleet. 


THE  END 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


